


please don't bite

by Caynsie



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Slow Burn, progressively shittier writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-04-20 11:46:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14260272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caynsie/pseuds/Caynsie
Summary: Junior Deputy Young never expected to be tossed in the middle of a religious cult's takeover without knowing which way is up, nor did he expect to become the poster boy for the Resistance. Shocking as this may be, nothing horrifies the man more than the realization that his soulmate is John Seed, an Eden's Gate herald and one sadistic motherfucker.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, you don't see color until you meet your soulmate, so if descriptions seem 'off' it's because I'm physically fighting myself to not say grey every three words.  
> I'll admit this is pretty self indulgent, so I used my own deputy instead of keeping it ambiguous. His name is Garrett Young and he's the human embodiment of a flaming garbage can.

Quick. In and out. It was an easy arrest. They had a warrant, they had witness accounts. Joseph Seed was going to come quietly, and they would be done. He’d go to court and Garrett didn’t have to think about the bastard ever again.

That’s how he pictured it, anyway. That’s how it _should_ have happened. Reality had a funny way of screwing him and everyone else over, though.

It started out well enough. The cultists seemed a little freaky and the Seed family creeped him the hell out, but Joseph handled his arrest without a fight. Seed’s crazy-ass little following had different ideas, however, and Garrett- along with his colleagues- were plunged in a ridiculous and terrifying ‘holy war’, as Dutch had explained.

 

Garrett remembers the heat of the flames licking at his skin so vividly, sometimes he swears he’s still stuck in the crashed bird with Joseph staring in his eyes. An involuntary shiver runs down the man’s spine, making him clutch his gun just a bit tighter. It’s a hunting rifle, but it’s proven to be pretty damn good at taking out Peggies.

Unkempt, dry grass brushes against his ankles and calves. The lightly pigmented blades are splattered with dark patches of fluid. Likely blood. Anywhere else in the world, Garrett would be _beyond_ horrified, but this just seems to be Hope County at its finest. He will always remain sickened by each body he comes across, even those he’s killed, but it’s beginning to get easier to deal with. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if this is what soldiers feel like.

Dwelling on negative thoughts only serves to distract the deputy, so even though his skull is buzzing with words (some coherent and others just ramblings his mind can’t even begin to piece together) he forces himself to move on. Dutch suggested he talked to some people to gain information about the area, and he intends to do just that. Helping the locals would not only give the Resistance a bigger following, it would get him closer to finding his friends.

Holland Valley seemed like a good starting point. Garrett is _used_ to farmland, even if it’s populated with crazy assholes trying to murder or convert him.

As Garrett ventures further into John’s territory, his radio crackles to life. The sound is enough to make him jump. _“It’s Rae Rae at the pumpkin farm! Boomer’s going crazy.”_ He listens to the call intently, pursing his lips as he considers his options. He’s not 100% on the location, but he’s seen enough signs in the area to get an idea. A pumpkin farm can’t be that hard to find, anyway.

Rae Rae’s it is, then. If nothing else, helping the farm and its inhabitants might gain him some points with the Resistance. With only the slightest clue of which way to go, Garrett begins his trek to find (and hopefully _save_ ) the pumpkin farm.

 

The sun is just beginning to set when Garrett clumsily stumbles over a hard mound hidden in the grass. He can’t help but be annoyed when he regains his balance. Using the muzzle of his rifle, he pokes around until he’s uncovered the object. He’d honestly been expecting a severed head, but instead an innocuous little pumpkin lay nestled in the tall blades. Garrett’s boot left a little imprint on the side, meaning the thing had been rotting for a while.

“I’m getting closer, at least,” he mumbles. It’s weird, talking to himself. He’s not quite used to it, so he tends to keep quiet.

Just barely on the horizon, surrounded by a smattering of trees and framed by the distant mountains, Garrett spots a large patch of plowed land. He picks up his binoculars, looking for any features that screamed “pumpkin farm.” He’s still too far to clearly define any individual crops, but he _can_ see the giant billboard that displays the name along with a painting of a dog. That must be it, then.

Admittedly, he’s a little sick of walking, but he’s _so_ close. There’s no sound of gunfire, which is either a cause for worry or joy. He can see trucks with the Eden’s Gate “cross” painted on the sides, but no Peggies. He can’t see any civs, either, though. Garrett gets an eery feeling that he’s being watched. He shifts uncomfortably, cautiously creeping up the road. It’s dead quiet and he hates it.

He knows better than to call out, but damn he wants to. He’s close enough to see what seems to be blood and signs of a struggle. Probably too late, then. _Dammit_. Other than evidence of a past fight and the battered Eden’s Gate trucks, there’s no sign of any Peggies. Still, Garrett can’t shake that creeping feeling…

A piercing bark splits the air. Garrett lets out an undignified yelp and leaps to the side, pointing his gun in the direction he heard the dog. He’s pleased to see it’s not an attack dog, but decidedly _not_ pleased that it’s not even looking at him. He whips around just as a shot rings out, grazing Garrett’s bicep. He curses loudly and fires off three shots in rapid succession.

When one cultist falls, four more come out. “Oh, hell!”

The Peggies shout threats at him and fire at his legs as he runs to cover. Bullets whizz past the shoddy crate, deafening the deputy. The caged dog snarls and barks viciously. Garrett can hear his claws scratching the metal with shrieking hisses. Without even taking the time to think about it, he searches and aims for the release and shoots once. The cage door opens with an unrestrained slam, releasing a flurry of angry, barking dog.

It shocks the Peggies more than anything and Garrett can use their confusion to his advantage. He rushes one and takes him out by breaking his neck. The sickening crunch rings in his ears after the fact, but he can’t let it bother him. Another cultist struggles with the dog, trying to pry his gun out of strong jaws. Garrett takes the shot, cringing at the gore exploding from the man’s skull.

The dog had already killed a cultist by the time Garrett came out of cover, so only one remained. The problem is that he can’t see him, let alone hear any movement due to the ringing and blood rushing in his ears. The deputy hugs the side of a shed, pointedly ignoring the dark splatters on the otherwise pristine-seeming paint. He’s shocked to see that the dog isn’t trying to rip his throat out; he’d expected it, quite honestly. Instead, it’s stalking right next to Garrett quite placidly.

The dog’s ears prick up suddenly and it looks up at the roof. Three things happen at once: the dog barks, a cultist drops from the aluminum roof, and Garrett shoots blindly in his surprise. The bullet hit its mark successfully, planting in the cultist’s neck. Black blood runs over the unshaven man’s fingers as he clutches over the wound and gurgles helplessly. Garrett shoots him one more time in the forehead, ending his struggling.

“Nice work there, bu-… ddy?” The dog is gone when he looks down. Garrett looks around, confused, and catches a glimpse of its retreating form slinking around the corner of the shed. The deputy follows close behind, holstering his gun.

He’s not prepared for the sight that meets his eyes. On the ground are two civilians, shot down and lying in a pool of their own blood. The dog lies next to their bodies, gazing at them with confusion and what seems to be sorrow. Garrett can’t help but feel like he’s staring at a young child witnessing its parents’ death. Confused, sad, and helpless.

“Hey, boy,” he says softly. The heeler turns his head toward Garrett but doesn’t try to move any further. Frowning, the man approaches the animal sympathetically. “It’s tough, huh, bud? Losing the people you know and love.” He feels like an idiot. He probably is an idiot. The dog, however, seems comforted by a human’s gentle words.

“I know that feeling. We’re kindred spirits, aren’t we?” Tentatively, Garrett rests his calloused palm on the mutt’s fuzzy head. He scratches lightly, grinning when the dog leans into his touch.

“We’re a pretty good team. Let’s stick together, huh?” The dog has no idea what he’s saying. Still, Garrett likes to think he’s giving the grieving animal some sort of comfort. “Come,” he commands, and the dog springs up with an excited woof. He jumps up on Garrett’s stomach, an excited and very persistent tongue wiggling its way up to his face.

“You’ll do just fine.” The collar (if it can even be called that) doesn’t have a nametag, so Garrett must figure out a name for the animal. He’s just beginning to think of a few names when he glances at the massive sign standing proudly at the entrance. _Rae Rae’s Pumpkin Farm. Home of Boomer, National Gun Dog Champion of 2015_. “Oh damn. I didn’t know I was chilling with a celebrity. Is that your name? Boomer?”

Two black ears prick up at the mention of his name, fluffy tail wagging. Garrett takes that as a ‘yes.’

“Let’s get going then, Boom.” Boomer gallops ahead, tongue falling out of his mouth in an ecstatic pant. He looks back a few times to make sure Garrett is following, then falls back when he realizes the man won’t be sprinting with him. Even though he couldn’t save the farm, Garrett feels pretty good about rescuing a new best friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm entirely socially inept so I didn't reply, but I read and adored every comment you guys left! This chapter's coming a little early because I wanted to show some appreciation for the nice things you guys said. I really hope it doesn't disappoint!  
> (also, you can tell how obvious it is that i have no idea how technology works :) )

Garrett’s been in Hope County for just two weeks and already he’s made quite the name for himself, especially after helping the Resistance in Fall’s End. If someone needs help, he’s the one they call. With fame comes infamy, however, and the Peggies know his face just as well. He’s even begun to see some (frankly _unflattering_ ) posters plastered on buildings emblazoned with the word “SINNER.” Living the dream, really.

He’s been keeping busy in other ways, as well. Liberating outposts, saving hostages. John must _despise_ him. Good. Garrett’s not so fond of the bastard, himself.

Boomer has been with him through it all. He’s proven to be a reliable and loyal companion, more so than some people Garrett has met in the past. Garrett also feels comfortable talking to his dog even though he can’t understand. It’s comforting, in a weird way, knowing that he can share his feelings and thoughts without any repercussions.

His fondness for the dog hasn’t stopped him from meeting other people, though. He likes Grace. She’s tough and good at what she does. A little quiet, but Garrett supposes that just comes with being a decorated sniper. He feels bad calling her in for help, so he usually sticks with just Boomer, though.

 

He’s hunting when Dutch radios him.

Garrett’s lining up the shot, trying not to breathe too hard. Boomer is by his side, as always, watching diligently. Garrett knows the poor dog is fighting back the urge to chase the deer, muscles twitching erratically. Cattle dogs are herders and damn stubborn when they want to be. The deputy will have to give him a special treat for being so good.

His finger itches on the trigger. The shot will be fatal, and the buck shouldn’t suffer at all. Then the sudden static from his walkie makes him jump. A single shot rings out of his rifle, echoing in the sky like a crack of thunder. Boomer jumps up then, taking off at a breakneck speed. Garrett missed _spectacularly_ and now the deer and his dog are taking off.

“Dammit!” He whistles sharply for Boomer, who stops in his tracks and promptly turns back around.

The radio is still crackling horribly, but Garrett swears he can almost hear Dutch’s voice. “Give me a minute. Let me find a better signal,” he says into the receiver. He doubts Dutch can even hear him.

Boomer trots back to his owner, panting harshly, but his tail is wagging. Garrett pats his thigh to call him closer, then starts heading toward the road. The old radio makes a horrendous squealing sound before finally tuning in.

“Answer me, Deputy. Come in.”

“Sorry about that, Dutch. No signal.”

“Bout damn time,” the old veteran grumbled. Before Garrett could retort, he barreled right through. “Don’t know if you heard, but Nick Rye’s in need of some assistance. Said the cult’s been snoopin’ around, eyeing his plane. If you want to help a real good man and an asset to the Resistance, I suggest you high tail it over there.”

“Location?”

“Address is on any _Rye & Sons_ sign. Believe me, there are plenty.”

“Alright. Thanks, Dutch.”

“Anytime, kid.”

The old man doesn’t talk too much, but he gives Garrett a grandfatherly vibe. He seems to care in his own way.

“Hey, Boom. Wanna go kill some Peggies?”

The heeler stares at him in the way only a dog can. Perpetual confusion, but damn happy to be along for the ride. Garrett chuckles at the mutt’s dark gaze and begins walking alongside the road. Boomer trots at a leisurely pace beside his master. The little fool used to run _on_ the road, but Garrett put a very quick stop to that when he almost got them both hit by a reckless civilian.

“Think I should invest in a car, bud?” Garrett asks. Boomer doesn’t even try to feign interest, too busy sniffing the path they’re following. “I don’t know. It’ll be handy, but I feel like I meet more people when I walk. Plus, I don’t have to listen to the shit the cult pumps out and calls ‘music.’ I don’t mind some hymns every now and then, but holy _hell_. There’s no way I’m suffering through all that. I need music when I drive.”

Garrett continues to ramble, and Boomer continues to ignore him. It’s an odd routine, but it fights off the loneliness and stops Garrett from going completely crazy.

 

Just as Dutch said, the _Rye & Sons _posters and advertisements were just about everywhere with both address and phone number. The next step was simply walking over. Maybe he should get a car, if not for himself then for Boomer. The dog seems to enjoy walking, but what dog doesn’t love sticking their head out the window? Garrett tried it once when he was little. It terrified his mother, but he understood why dogs liked it so much. The giant bug that splattered on his forehead was pretty gross, though.

Boomer heard the gunfire before he did. The dog stayed alert all through the woods, growling at any slight movement. Garrett tried to keep him calm, but one reassuring pat led to a bitten and sore finger, so he left him alone after that.

When Garrett’s weak human ears finally picked up the sound of gunfire, he could also hear the very distinct sound of an airplane’s engine roaring to life. He picked up speed, jogging in the direction of the noise. By the time Nick’s property came into view, a light-hued seaplane with a toothy grin painted on the front was taking flight.

Some other cultists still hung around, fighting someone. Garrett couldn’t see who, but he assumed it was Nick. He had the perfect view of the property up on his little hill, high enough to see everything yet obscured by the trees. Boomer waited anxiously by his side, whining and growling in anticipation. His front paws danced impatiently, intense gaze locked ahead.

“Wait just a minute, Boom. Let’s even out the odds a little bit first, huh?”

Garrett holstered his .44 and unstrapped the light rifle from his back. He’d much prefer an actual sniper rifle, but the hunting rifle worked well enough even if it wasn’t exactly compatible with certain mods.

He made sure he was fully loaded before aiming down below, carefully seeking out a target. He evened out his breathing and pointed the barrel down at a cultist taking cover behind a crate. Garrett held his breath and shot. The shaggy-looking cultist slumped forward, blood pooling on the ground.

The deputy shot two more Peggies before he deemed it safe enough for Boomer to charge down. When the third hit the dirt, his dog was close to vibrating out of his skin. Garrett grabbed the heeler’s makeshift collar and pointed at a target. “Sic ’em,” he commanded, and the dog was off like a shot, letting out high-pitched barks the entire way down.

Garrett followed, hot on the dog’s heels. He switched out his rifle for the .44 strapped to his hip. He slid into cover behind a truck with the Eden’s Gate sigil painted on the side, slamming into the metal a little harder than he intended to.

“Get this fuckin’ dog off me!” shouted a distressed cultist. Boomer’s high-pitched yelp rang out, followed by a light thud.

Garrett didn’t hesitate and aimed for the man’s head, firing off two shots in rapid succession. Both missed, but one bullet lodged itself in the man’s shoulder. He cried out in shock and pain, then Boomer lunged again. His savage snarling was drowned out by more rapid gunfire and Garrett was again reminded of the impending threat the other cultists presented.

He’d been able to count while he was up on the hill, and if his math is correct (which it usually isn’t, but subtraction is one of the easier things to do), only four should be left. A shotgun fired and someone let out a scream of pain before thudding to the ground, choking on blood. Three, then.

Garrett came out of cover to get a visual. To his left, one cultist struggles with Boomer, trying to yank his gun away from the dog’s persistent pull. Garrett shoots the man when his dog successfully wrestles the gun away, then tries to focus on the last two. He can’t see either, but he can wait for them to poke their head out.

If he tries not to think of them as living human beings, Garrett can almost get in the mindset of it being somewhat like a game. They brave a little peek, and then he can slam his mallet down on them before they escape back into their hole.

He doesn’t count on the last two cultists to pop up at the same time, but they do. He manages to shoot one in the chest, but the other cultist gets him instead. With a cry of pain, Garrett ducks back into cover. Boomer is by him in an instant, whining and nudging his arm gently.

“I’m fine, pal,” he assures the worried dog. The same shotgun blast from before sounds again- closer this time- and Garrett can hear the last body hit the ground. _Thank God._

He’s inspecting the damage when a man comes around the side of the truck, shotgun slung over his shoulder somewhat carelessly.

“Thanks for the help back there, man. I saw you get hit; you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’ll heal.” The bullet missed any serious areas, instead grazing the meat of his shoulder. Some peroxide and a bandage will do just fine.

“Come on inside. We’ll get it fixed up for you right quick.” He helps Garrett to his feet, then looks over at the upset heeler. “Long time no see, Boomer!”

Garrett’s a little confused, but he doesn’t question it. “Name’s Garrett Young, by the way. Thanks for the hospitality.”

“Nick Rye. Don’t mention it.” With that, Nick leads the deputy to the house with Boomer trailing behind.

 

“So, you’re the deputy everyone’s been talking about, huh?” Kim says conversationally, rubbing circles in the fur on Boomer’s head.

“I hope they’re good things.” Kim laughs, her soft eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.

“I guess that depends who you ask. The Peggies probably have some choice words to say about you.”

There’s a quiet thud in the other room, followed by an annoyed, “Aw, hell.”

“Nick, will you stop messing with those suitcases?” Kim scolds. Nick comes in seconds later, an annoyed look on his face.

“Somebody’s gotta pack if we’re gettin’ out of here!” He throws himself in one of the creaky dining room chairs, leaning into the backrest with a satisfied grunt.

“Oh, shit. That reminds me.” He turns to Garrett slowly, almost seeming sheepish. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Sure.” He takes a long drink of the lukewarm coffee Kim gave him, then turns his gaze back to the man opposite him. “What is it you need?”

“Them assholes took my plane. Carmina’s been in my family for generations, and I don’t want no damn Peggies taking her apart or ruining her. Plus, that’s Kim n’ me’s ticket out of here!” Kim rolls her eyes but stays silent. Garrett hides his chuckle with a fake cough.

“Do you think you could get her back for me? It’d mean a whole lot.”

“Nick, he just got shot. I know you love Carmina, but could you let the poor man rest?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Garrett assures her. “I’d be glad to help. Do you know where they took her?”

Nick’s face screams relief. “My best guess is they took her to John Seed’s ranch. It’s real close and they have a big enough place to hide her.”

Garrett nods thoughtfully and takes another drink of coffee while Nick continues. “Carmina’s a bright yellow seaplane. She’s real hard to miss.”

“Sorry, bright what?” Garrett interjects. His brows knit together in confusion, an expression mirrored by Nick.

“Yellow? The color?” The blank stare continues. “You don’t know what colors are?”

Garrett laughs. “Buddy, I’ve never seen anything ‘yellow.’ The trees are gray, the grass is gray, _you’re_ gray. I see about as much as Boomer over there. I’m a glorified dog.” Two fuzzy ears perk up over the worn table when the heeler hears his name.

“How- oh, shit, you haven’t met the one yet, huh?” Nick laughs in embarrassment. “Kim n’ me have been together so long now I forgot!” He pats his wife’s hand softly, then intertwines their fingers.

The display is beyond adorable, and while Garrett doesn’t think about finding his soulmate very often, their relationship makes him want to look a little harder.

“I appreciate the hospitality and I _really_ appreciate the coffee,” Garrett says to wrap things up. “You don’t mind watching Boom while I get Carmina, do you?”

“Of course not! It’ll be nice to have a dog around again,” Kim replies easily.

“Oh, thank you.” Garrett rises from the creaking old chair, his back popping with it.

Nick stands with him, resting his warm palm on the deputy’s uninjured shoulder. “No, thank _you_ , deputy. You don’t know how much this means to me. Us.”

“Well, it’s what I do. I promise I’ll get her back in one piece.” Nick’s gentle grip turns a little firmer as he shakes the man a little. His grin is enough to brighten the whole room and Garrett suddenly feels a deep, primal urge to protect this entire family from harm.

Nick gives Garrett directions and supplies him with some extra ammo before sending him on his way. Boomer only tries to follow once, then returns to the comfort of the Ryes’ home when told to stay.

Garrett decides he likes the Ryes. It sickens him to think that the deranged cult would even _consider_ tormenting such an innocent little family. He supposes it’s just a further incentive to stop Eden’s Gate and cram their asses down in hell where they belong.

 

John Seed’s ranch is nothing short of extravagant. If nothing else, the Seed family must be _loaded_. Garrett wonders if this falls under one of the seven deadly sins. Greed, maybe. “Hypocrite.”

Nick’s voice comes to life on the radio. Garrett turns the sound down so his position isn’t given away.

“You find the place alright?”

“Yeah, I’m here now.” Garrett sweeps the property with his binoculars, frowning. “Y’know, there’s like… a lot of guys here.”

Nick mutters a litany of muffled curses on the other end. “Well, if you just take John’s _house_ he’s gonna be pissed. I don’t want to put your life in jeopardy.”

“I agreed to do this,” he reminds. “I wonder if there’s any way I could just sneak in…”

“Your cover’ll be blown the second she fires up.”

“Yeah, well, then I’ll be-“ Garrett pauses, then splutters out, “When ‘she fires up’? You don’t expect me to fly it, do you? I’ve never done it before!”

“It’s easy! Like riding a bike.”

“A plane is _not_ like a bike! I can’t crash and explode a hundred feet in the air on a _bike._ ”

“How else did you think you were gonna get out of there? Just check on Carmina and come right back?”

Garrett doesn’t speak because, dammit, he didn’t even think about that.

“Look, I’ll coach you over the radio. Getting in the air is the hardest part. Steering is easier,” Nick amends. Garrett remains silent, then heaves out a nervous sigh.

“Alright, alright. If I die, it’s on you,” he replies half-jokingly. Nick huffs out a breath of laughter.

“Stay safe, deputy. I’ll leave you to it.”

He can do this. It shouldn’t be too hard. It’s just like sneaking around a heavily guarded outpost, right? Only he can’t kill everyone here and just take over because John will surely come after him with the fury of a thousand suns. Or, if the psycho doesn’t come after _him_ , he might do something to Hudson. Garrett can’t even bear the thought of her getting hurt on his behalf.

From his position, he can’t see any quiet way to get to Carmina. Maybe he could take out a couple cultists silently? Moving through the trees, Garrett keeps a close eye on the cultists closest to the plane. If he could somehow take them out, everything would turn out peachy. He can’t get one without the other seeing, though, and that’ll be a huge problem. He suddenly gets an idea. A reckless idea, but an idea nonetheless.

“Nick, I have an idea.”

The other end is silent for just a few seconds, but they drag on like hours. “Shoot,” Nick finally replies.

“How much damage do you think the plane can take? I know she has a limit, but the only way I can see myself getting to her is just going at a dead sprint.”

“Dep, I’m not gonna lie to ya. That sounds really damn stupid.”

“Yeah? You wanted your plane back. How much damage can she take?”

“She’s not just a _plane_ ,” Nick replies petulantly. “Dunno. I haven’t really tested it out. How’s she looking now? Smoking at all? Any bullet holes you can see?”

Garrett takes a closer look, scanning for anything at all. “No, she’s great. Not a scratch on her.”

Nick sighs loudly but doesn’t say anything. Garrett listens to the quiet rustling. “Nick, I’m gonna need an answer before they move her. She’s in the perfect spot right now. Aimed right toward the runway.”

“Well, shit,” Nick groans. “Don’t get her too banged up, Deputy. Let me know when you’re in and I’ll guide you back here.”

“Talk to you in a minute, Nick.”

Nick doesn’t offer anything else, so Garrett figures it’s his chance. He’s never been an exceptionally fast runner, but he’s gonna try, dammit. He can do this, he can do this. If he keeps repeating that, he’ll be golden. With the little mantra going in his head, Garrett takes off full speed toward the plane. The Peggies don’t even realize he’s coming until he’s halfway across the runway. When they do inevitably notice the deputy approaching at a dead sprint, however, they don’t even hesitate to take fire.

Bullets pelt the ground at his feet, leaving plumes of dirt and dust in their wake. “Oh, fuck,” Garrett pants. “Shit, fuck, Jesus _Christ_.”

His cursing continues the entire way, drowned out by the sound of gunfire and panicked cultists yelling at each other and into radios for help. One bullet manages to graze Garrett’s thigh, knocking the man off his feet.

“Fuck!” He’s a sitting duck, in the open and injured. It’s not a deep wound or a particularly debilitating one, but the pain is very intense. For the first time since he’s come to Hope County, he’s genuinely _pissed_ that he has to shoot some Peggies.

Garrett pulls out his .44 and stumbles to the closest crate he can use for cover. It looks rickety, like it might not survive having a bunch of bullets pumped into it, but neither can Garrett and at least the crate can’t feel it.

He shoots two cultists in rapid succession, then ducks down again when bullets start whizzing past his head. Carmina is just a short run away, but he can’t get there if every Peggie within a 3-mile radius can see him. If it’s not a death sentence for him, it’ll definitely be one for the plane.

Over the rapid gunfire, Garrett hears Nick’s voice over the radio.

“Hey, deputy? You get Carmina yet?” Nick asks. Garrett can hear the desperation in his voice.

“Kinda busy, Nick! I’ve got a situation on my hands here.”

“Me, too! Some more damn Peggies showed up and they’re tryin’ to get in the house.”

“What?!” Garrett is suddenly interrupted by a cultist who’s found his little hiding spot. The butt of an assault rifle aims for his head, but the deputy manages to move just in time. Instead, it rams into his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs.

Through his wheezing, Garrett manages to shoot the cultist through the neck. He falls with a sickening gurgle, dark blood spilling onto the grass.

“-uty. Deputy. Garrett!”

“Shit. Sorry, Nick,” he rasps, coughing into his fist. “I’ll try to be there as fast as I can. Is Boomer with Kim?”

“Yeah, he’s been real good at keepin’ her safe. Carmina’s got some miniguns on her. If you can get to her, you can fix your problem and come and help me fix mine.”

“That’s very handy. Why didn’t you say that earlier?”

“It wasn’t pertinent information!”

“Jesus. Alright, keep your family safe. I’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks, Dep.”

Those assholes called reinforcements to Nick’s house. Crafty bastards. Garrett can’t dwell on it any longer; he just needs to get in the plane and _go_.

The injured deputy rolls out of cover, ignoring the cultists as they scream out his location. It’s a half limp, half run to Carmina, but he gets there in record time. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hopes Nick doesn’t mind blood on the seat.

He still doesn’t know how to fly the damn thing.

The key is easy enough, but everything else is guesswork. Millions of thoughts scatter around his head, bouncing off his skull and crashing into each other in an ungodly amalgamation of _no help._ Somehow, the message that he needs to get going reaches his hands, however. Garrett doesn’t know why or even _how_ he’s maneuvering the plane, but he’s doing it. Holy hell, he’s doing it.

He’s giddy with excitement as the aircraft leaves the ground. Maybe he should go in full panic mode more often? He gets shit _done_ when he can’t think straight. Now all he needs to do is get back to Nick and Kim, and hopefully, _hopefully_ he won’t be too late.

 

It’s the hardest, most stressful thing Garrett has ever done, but he did it. The miniguns powered down, smoking ever so slightly. Down below, Nick is jumping and cheering. _What a dork._

“Alright, I got your plane back. I learned how to fly it _by myself_ , so how the hell do I land her?” Garrett circles around the property, watching as Nick picks up his radio.

“Folks say landing is the scariest part, but it’s pretty hard to mess up. You see the runway? Just fly real slow over there, straighten her out, and pitch her down. Slowly. I cannot stress that enough.”

“Got it.”

“She doesn’t gotta be perfectly straight. You can drive her a little bit and park her kinda like a car once you’re down. Just don’t hit any trees.”

“Aw, really? Well, hell, there goes my landing strategy.”

“That ain’t funny.”

Landing did seem a little intimidating, but Garrett did it about as well as any untrained pilot could. He came down a little too fast, but he didn’t crash and he didn’t hit any trees, so he’s got that going for him.

Garrett’s legs shake like mad when he gets out, so he lets instinct take over and just flops on the ground. Nick races over, concern etched into his brow.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Garrett assures him, waving him away. “I just need to take a minute and breathe.”

Nick gives him some time, complimenting his flying (and complaining about the rocky landing, but Garrett still counts the compliments as a victory) while the deputy is content to simply lie on the ground. As the adrenaline slowly wears off, he’s reminded of the bullet wound in his thigh.

“Hey, Nick, you still have the first aid kit in the kitchen?”

 

 

It was with great reluctance that Garrett left the Ryes, but the rest of the Resistance still demanded his help. Boomer seemed just as sad to leave, but ultimately the dog was happy to be back on the road to chase deer and sniff all the unusual smells Hope County’s wilderness had to offer. The day after the dynamic duo left Rye & Sons, Garrett received a very unexpected call.

“Deputy, it seems you’ve been busy.”

Oh, hell. He recognized that voice.

“I’ve tolerated your little games, but you’ve gone too far. Trespassing on my property, stealing from my _home_?” John tsked softly. “Even a sinner like you should know better.”

Garrett didn’t dare respond. He’d either show some form of weakness or say something he’d regret. Instead, he held the radio at arm’s length as if John Seed himself would crawl out of the receiver.

“Silent treatment, huh? Don’t worry. We’ll be in touch soon.”

The silence after the call was more ominous than anything John could have ever said. Garrett doesn’t know how long he was stood, unmoving and in shock, but he was broken out of his reverie by none other than Dutch.

“Deputy, I’m hearin’ a whole lotta Peggie chatter. John’s sending off a hunting party all for you. I suggest you get to runnin’. Once folks go to John, they don’t come back the same. Be safe, kid.”

Boomer gently nudged his owner’s leg, whining quietly. Reflexively, Garrett reached down to pet the dog’s head as a form of reassurance.

“Hey, Boom,” he said, voice cracking. He cleared his throat, willing away the anxiety bubbling up. “Wanna go for a run?”

In that moment, the junior deputy felt like the very same deer he and Boomer hunted together. He didn’t know where to go. If John could find his radio signal to talk to him, then surely he’d be able to find and track him the exact same way. Garrett wanted to rip the device away and smash it into a thousand pieces. He wanted to scream his anguish to the sky so the trees might swallow him up. He didn’t do any of that, though.

He simply ran.

Garrett wasn’t at all surprised when an armed convoy found his location, but that didn’t mean he and Boomer weren’t gonna put up a fight. The moment a pair of boots hit the dirt, the deputy rushed them. Boomer followed suit, barking savagely the entire way.

Garrett got his arms around the cultist’s neck, squeezing tight. There was a small panic amongst the group, but they gathered their wits very quickly. He was about to twist, mentally preparing for the soft yet deafening crack of a broken neck when he felt a painful sensation in his leg.

Garrett’s arms dropped and his vision started to cloud up. Boomer lunged for a cultist but was swiftly knocked back to the ground. It was as if just the sight of his dog falling caused the same reaction in the man, as he toppled to the ground seconds after. Numb fingers reached out for the whimpering mutt. With all sensation, Garrett’s consciousness began to fade as well.

Everything after his fall is a blur. He vaguely registers someone hoisting him up, _almost_ feels his own dead weight hit the cool metal of the bed of a truck. The last thing he sees is a scraggly cultist’s face directly in front of his, and the last thing he hears is the roar of an engine and the desperate, screaming barks of a distressed dog.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still too shy to reply to your comments but I love reading them!! You guys are too sweet.
> 
> I'm caynsiepupper over on tumblr, so feel free to yell at me there!

Joseph knew something was different about the deputy the moment he laid eyes on him. He didn’t tell John what; he just _knew_ something was different.

John wishes he’d somehow figured it out because he is _livid_. The “Resistance” is already annoying enough by halting the progress of their project. As frustrating as this may be, none of them got on his nerves quite like the deputy. The man hasn’t even been in Hope County a month and yet the arrogant sinner has busied himself with unraveling and destroying the work John and his family have poured into this place. It’s beyond frustrating, actually. It’s tipped past the boiling point.

None of that even compares to the unbridled _rage_ he felt when they’d stolen from him personally. He’d almost felt compelled to write out the sin, wear it on his skin as a badge of shame. He didn’t, though. No one needed to know how weak he’d been. No one deserved to see how unhinged he’d become just because of _one_ sheep led astray.

 

“ _…I pray that you hear these words before it’s too late. I want to see you become an old man in the paradise we’ve prepared for._ ” A pause in the recording. “ _I love you, brother. I love you.”_

John can’t count how many times he’s listened to Joseph’s voicemail. The dark side of him wants to rebel, to prove his brother wrong. He hasn’t had the courage to answer the man because the logical side of him knows Joseph is right. He always is. Maybe John is already hurtling down the wrong path. Maybe he’s too far gone to even be saved. Maybe he doesn’t even _deserve_ to be saved.

God knows he’s had these thoughts often enough.

John almost has to physically pry himself away from the answering machine. It’s been a quiet day; normally he wouldn’t mind (he may even embrace) the quiet, but what he needs is _loud_ and _busy_ to prevent him from obsessing over his own thoughts.

He’d sent his best to track down the deputy several hours ago. He hasn’t gotten any progress report since. Some part of him wonders if, maybe, the deputy somehow managed to ruin that plan, as well. At this point, it wouldn’t surprise him.

It’s about three in the afternoon when John finally receives an update from his search party. They’ve narrowed down a section of woods the deputy could be in, though no exact location just yet. Maybe if he knows he’s being watched, he’ll do something reckless. Or he’ll try to fight back. Either way, John knows the deputy will be caught whether he likes it or not.

He has some preparing to do.

 

Plenty of converts come here to be cleansed, and thus John needn’t maintain the area save for a basic cleaning every now and then. This particular cleansing is special, though. Joseph may not approve of the added touches here and there, but John doesn’t do anything half-assed. He wants the deputy to know that, without even the _hint_ of a doubt, that he’s in John’s hands now and there’s nothing he can do about it.

As the sun finally dips below the horizon, the encroaching darkness finally making its final takeover, the low rumble of a truck’s engine sounds through the trees. The anticipation rises as the vehicle rattles down the rocky driveway. John won’t deny the surge of excitement he feels when the truck stops, and out of the back is a bound and seemingly unconscious deputy.

Oh, he’s going to have _fun._

 

 

 

He feels heavy. He _is_ heavy. He can’t move anything. His eyelids won’t even stay open. Maybe a little more sleep will do him some good.

_Oh, am I moving?_ Garrett thinks. His legs feel like solid lead. The sensation of his feet dragging can only be described as vague, like he’s witnessing it from two rooms over. His consciousness (if it can be called that) fades away again as cultists wrestle with his dead weight.

Suddenly, Garrett is completely surrounded by icy cold water. All the breath is punched from his lungs and his mind is screaming that he’s about to die. He wants to move his arms, but they’re tightly bound together to the point that his shoulders ache a little with the strain of movement.

Although it feels like an eternity in the frigid depths, he’s only encased by the water’s unforgiving embrace for a few seconds. He comes back to the surface with a panicked gasp. His vision is still clouded around the edges, but he can see his surroundings well enough. A couple of civilians are being packed into a van, sopping wet like himself.

Garrett barely registers that he’s moving again, too overwhelmed by the scenery. The headlights from a truck blind him in their intensity, leaving him even more disoriented. The water sloshes lightly around his thighs; his feet feel a thousand pounds each, dragging up the muddy lakebed in thick plumes. In the back of his mind, he can hear someone talking. They’ve been talking this entire time, but Garrett hasn’t understood a word they’ve said.

The cultist leading him has a very loose grasp on his arm. If Garrett were stronger, he could likely break free. He’s not even sure if he can stand up on his own now, though. They suddenly stop, and Garrett with them. Confused, he chances a look up. In his left eye, the lights still blind him, and in the right, his vision swims uncomfortably. This feels like a hangover, but so much worse than any he’s ever had to deal with.

His eyes focus, and now he knows what he’s looking at. _Who_ he’s looking at. John Seed, in the flesh, standing inches from him. The man’s hand stops the shaggy cultist in his tracks.

“Not this one,” he says softly. Their eyes meet and Garrett freezes; in their steely depths lie only hatred, burning and intense. “This one’s not clean.”

Suddenly, Garrett is thrust back in the water. He’s able to hold his breath before all the air can escape him, but this change of events is far more terrifying than before. There’s heat behind this “baptism,” fueled by John’s rage.

He doesn’t know how long he’s held under the water, just that his vision is changing and this time he _knows_ he’s dying. His muscles twitch and the nerves in his arms come to life as he struggles. John’s hands planted firmly around his throat leave a fiery blaze beneath the man’s palms. Garrett dislikes how intimately he can feel this, like every other sensation has been turned off.

Suddenly, he’s being let go. The hands are gone, the burning sensation trickles away slowly like sap from a tree. He surges from the water, breath heaving. In his lightheadedness, he swears his eyes deceive him.

John has stumbled back a foot, rubbing his own eyes. Garrett wonders if he splashed the man in his wild attempt to get free. _Good_. He deserves some dirt in his eyes.

They meet eyes again, and the burning hatred is gone, replaced by confusion and… wonder? More than that, they’ve changed somehow. Garrett has no words to describe it, and even if he did, his tongue is thick and heavy in his mouth; he can’t speak of these changes.

It’s more than his eyes. The entirety of the man, his surroundings. More bleeds into the corners of his vision. None of this makes any _sense_. It has to be the Bliss. That’s what he’ll tell himself. A bad reaction to the Bliss. He can’t think of any other thing that would bring this on. _God_ , his head; he’s never felt an ache like this. He squeezes his eyes shut, and when they’re open, John is back upon him with heated hands and an unstable look in his eyes.

Garrett knows he’s going down in the water again. He forces his weight into John’s grip, but the intensity is gone when a very familiar voice speaks out.

“Do you mock the cleansing, John?”

John casts his gaze aside. In this moment, in the presence of Joseph, he looks like a scorned child.

“No, Joseph.”

The Father hushes him. “You have to love them, John. Do not let your sin prevent that.”

The following silence is uncomfortable, but it is brief. One of John’s hands still rests lightly on Garrett’s shoulder, warming him through his soaked flannel. Joseph says something else, but he does not hear it. Even now, drugged out of his mind and with a headache so painful it threatens to explode his brain, Garrett can’t help but be amused by the sudden (and very welcome) appearance of Joseph’s shirt.

The cool hands of the cultist on his opposite side gently grasp his bound wrists, guiding him toward the Father. The motion feels like a sluggish glide; it only serves to make the ache behind Garrett’s eyes pound harder.

“Despite all that you have done, you are not beyond salvation. You’re not here by accident or by chance. You are here by the grace of God. You’ve been given a gift.” Garrett hangs on the man’s words, enraptured by his intense gaze. It must be the Bliss making him feel this way. Surely, if he were in his right mind, he wouldn’t be so intent on absorbing his every last word.

“Now it remains to be seen whether you choose to embrace it,” Joseph pauses, raking his striking eyes down once before once again locking onto Garrett’s own, “or to cast it aside.”

Joseph’s rough hands leave the deputy’s shoulders, instead reaching for his brother.

“This one shall reach the Atonement,” he says softly. His gentle hand wraps around his brother’s neck, bringing him in to lightly touch their foreheads together. “Or the Gates of Eden shall be shut to you, John.”

“Yes, Joseph.”

With one last pat to his younger brother’s shoulder, Joseph turns away. John watches him leave. He turns to the deputy, grasping Garrett’s shoulder firmly. The remorse in his steely gaze is gone, replaced by some twisted sort of determination. Garrett is once again captured by those complicated eyes, so clear yet he can’t even begin to comprehend the depth held within those lovely irises.

“You will confess. Every sin you’ve ever committed, no matter how petty, no matter how small,” he rasps, intense eyes shaking Garrett to his core with every word spoken, “I will pull from you. Then we’ll see if you’re worthy of Atonement.”

John nods to the man opposite Garrett, gesturing vaguely. He leads the deputy away as John strides in the opposite direction, likely chasing down his brother.

Everything from then on is a blur of splitting headache, clouded vision, and leaden limbs. Garrett barely registers that he’s being loaded into a van, packed in with three other people. All he wants is sleep. Maybe if he tries really hard, he can doze off.

The van roars to life, but it sounds distant. With nothing but sheer willpower, Garrett manages to shut off his overloaded senses and fall into a fitful doze.

It can’t be much later when he’s forced back into consciousness because he doesn’t feel rested at all. His eyes, slightly clearer, focus on the situation in front of him. The two hostages are struggling, the woman more than the man, and the cultist is trying to calm her down.

The situation escalates quickly to the point where the Peggie tries to use force. Just as he raises his hand to do _something_ , the van lurches to the side harshly. All four of them are thrown in the same direction, then the vehicle is rolling. Garrett should be panicking. He should be begging for his life, or _something_ , but all he feels is numb amidst the terror around him.

He hits his head against the roof, eyes blacking out for a short moment. All he registers with clarity is the tumbling of the van, then the harsh stop as it collides with something solid. The sounds seem distant, like either he or everything else is underwater, but he knows the sound gunfire intimately.

Garrett hears someone coming closer, reciting something familiar. It sounds biblical. A chill races up his spine, nerves spiking as anxiety starts to take over. He feels someone at his back, cutting his ties. The moment his hands are free, he rolls over to defend himself. He throws a weak punch, but the attack is caught by a warm palm. He follows the arm up.

Instead of another cultist, Pastor Jeffries- clad in body armor and holding both gun and bible- stands before him, a grin of relief stretching his features.

“It’s good to see you, deputy.”

“Likewise,” Garrett slurs. His fist relaxes until he’s gripping the pastor’s hand, accepting the assistance. He stumbles a bit once he’s on his feet, but luckily the van is there to catch him.

“You look like you’ve been through Hell,” Jerome mumbles,

“Feel like it, too. You don’t happen to have any Tylenol, do you?” They share a laugh.

“We haven’t been able to reach you all day. I’m glad John hasn’t done too much damage.”

“Fucked me up pretty good, though. That Bliss shit is _awful_. My eyes still aren’t working right,” Garrett complains.

With the knock to his head, his eyes can finally focus, at least. There’s still something wrong, though. Even though his head is mostly cleared, save for the headache and some patches in thinking, he can’t even begin to conjure up the words to describe what he’s seeing. It’s breathtaking, but if it’s a side effect of the Bliss, he doesn’t want anything to do with it.

“It should clear up. You haven’t been exposed to enough for any lasting damage,” Jerome promises. Garrett doesn’t believe him, but he won’t say that.

“What are you seeing? Hallucinations? Blurriness?”

“No, the blurriness went away. I guess it’s a hallucination? I don’t know. It’s weird. It’s… intense, I guess.”

“Intense how?”

Garrett throws his hands up in frustration. He doesn’t know why or how it’s intense, it just _is._ It’s new and amazing and awful all at the same time.

“It wasn’t like this the whole time, if that’s any help. Some Peggie was baptizing me, and it was fine, but when John did it he tried to drown me and when I came back up, everything was… weird.”

Jerome frowns in confusion. “I don’t know what to tell you, dep. If it doesn’t stop, we’ll get you some medical attention.”

Garrett nods in agreement. Jerome offers him a gun, says they’ll need to fight their way out. He’s not entirely ready for this, but he has to, so he doesn’t argue. He follows the pastor’s lead, trying his damnedest to stay focused on the task at hand and not the suddenly gorgeous scenery.

 

The fight is tough (and Garrett really, _really_ hates that the cult has mortars) but they get through it with no casualties and few serious injuries. On the helicopter ride, Garrett can finally think straight without explosions going off right beside his head. He thinks back on the heat he felt from John’s touch, how it lit up his nerves like a series of matches. Just remembering it is enough to send a delicious shiver up his spine.

What the _hell_? Why is he like this? The man’s a psychopath, through and through. That whole damn family is, and here he is fawning over the memories of the man who tried to drown him just because his touch felt nice.

His touch.

The burning, warm, pleasant sensation of his hands upon his flesh.

The way Garrett got lost in his eyes.

The change in vision.

 

Oh, _fuck_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i ever mention how much i love nick and kim rye  
> cuz i love them a whole lot
> 
> Another update because I write too fast for my own good and I couldn't help myself. The next couple of chapters will be a little boring, but it'll pick back up soon! I promise!

Garrett has hardly moved for two days. He tells himself it’s because of the injuries he’s sustained over the past week. He tries to avoid and ignore the obvious but it’s getting harder with every passing moment. He hasn’t told anyone yet, too afraid of their reaction. It’s not his fault, but some part of him thinks it is. Soulmates don’t end up that way “just because.” Something has drawn them together, and Garrett shudders to think what that might be.

No one has questioned his lack of activity, at least, likely chalking it up to exhaustion. At least they’re not pestering him. The quiet gets to him, though. Makes it harder for him to ignore the array of colors, the instinctive sense of longing he gets. More than once, he’s reached down to run his fingers through Boomer’s thick fur only to be reminded that his faithful companion is gone. He’s a smart dog, so Garrett is confident he’s not dead. He just doesn’t know where Boomer could have gone, let alone how far away he may have ended up.

On his third morning of rest and reflection, Garrett got sick of stewing in self-pity. He left Jerome’s church early in the morning- before even the birds decided it was time to wake up- and headed South. He doesn’t remember where he last saw Boomer, just that they were in the forest, but the old pumpkin farm seemed like a good place to check.

 

Walking alone, put bluntly, _sucks_. Garrett turns every few seconds to make sure Boomer is following, only to remember he’s not there. He considers calling in Grace, but he doesn’t want to waste her time because he was lonely. She has better things to do than help a lost little deputy find his dog.

He’s taken to humming when his mind wanders back to John. They’re the stupid hymns the cult pumps out (they’re _so_ catchy, though) and the humming doesn’t really help. It’s better than the silence, he supposes, and he feels weird talking to himself.

Garrett’s knee deep in the deep part of a creek, struggling through the mud, when Kim’s voice comes to life over the radio.

“Hey, deputy,” she says cheerily. “I hope you’re not busy. Or injured, for that matter.”

“Morning, Kim,” Garrett responds immediately. He curses under his breath when his boot pops off in the mud. “Not injured, but a little busy. Not enough to talk, though. What’s up?”

“I heard through the grapevine that John got his hands on you. I wanted to make sure you’re alright. Well, as alright as someone can be after coming face-to-face with that crazy fuck.”

Garrett hurries to the other side of the creek to set his gear down so he can return to his boot. It comes free with a wet _schlorp_ after a couple tugs, covered in sediment. He doesn’t even care, just tugs it back on over his wet sock and hefts his gear back up, trudging along.

“Well, I’ve gotta admit I’ve seen better days,” he responds with a half-hearted chuckle.

Kim makes a sympathetic sound on her end. “Come over for a visit sometime soon and pick up your dog,” she suggests. Garrett’s ears tune in fully then, heart beating a little faster.

“You have Boomer?!”

“Yeah, he limped over a few days ago. When they captured you. I patched him up some, but he hasn’t done much other than lay on the porch staring down the road.”

“Oh, jeez,” he says softly. “I’ll be over soon. I left Fall’s End about an hour ago. I can be there in a few more.”

“Are you not driving, deputy?” Kim queries. At Garrett’s lack of a response, she huffs out an exasperated sigh. “Between you and Nick, I swear. Just find a car and drive it on down. Hell, take one from the Peggies. Nick’ll even help repaint it.”

“God, fine, I guess I’ll stop walking. Let my legs atrophy or something.”

“Shut up and get your ass down here.”

The radio clicks, signaling the end of their conversation. Garrett can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Still, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t listen to her. Hell hath no fury like that of a pregnant woman.

 

Garrett did end up stealing a Peggie’s truck, only because he wanted Nick to repaint it. He wanted to know which colors he would use, if only to hear some names to go with the many different shades. He’d also like to watch the Eden’s Gate sigil get buried underneath a new coat, or even get sanded off. He’d like that very much.

The dingy pick-up rattles down the driveway to Rye and Sons, signaling his arrival. Neither of the Ryes are in sight, meaning they’re both doing something. Garrett can only guess at what.

He parks by the walkway up to the garage, behind their truck. He assumes it’s theirs, anyway. The rumbling engine sputters to a halt when he takes the keys out (it’ll need some maintenance) and the door shrieks when he opens it. The noise is enough to cause a barking frenzy near the house. Garrett immediately recognizes it.

The deputy rounds the corner of the truck, looking up at the porch. There’s Boomer, in one piece, barking at him like mad.

“Boomer!” Garrett shouts, half scolding, half beckoning. The heeler stops immediately, then takes a few steps forward to get a closer look. Garrett grins, then calls him again.

The barking starts up again, but it’s a few octaves higher. Boomer tears down the sidewalk, a blur of furry excitement. Garrett crouches down, holding his arms open. The dog doesn’t slow down one bit, slamming into his owner and knocking the man to the ground. His wild barking devolves into frenzied whining as he licks any inch of skin he can reach.

Garrett’s hands are a blur of movement as he pets and scratches Boomer to his heart’s content. He also takes the time to feel for any injuries he may have gotten, but there are none. The Peggies must have just taken Garrett and left Boomer behind to cry in his absence.

“I haven’t seen him that happy in the few days he’s been here,” Kim calls from the porch. Garrett sits up a little so he can see, Boomer still between his legs and licking him messily. “You sure you want that tongue all over your face? I’ve seen him do some nasty things with it.”

“I’m a dog person, which means I’m gross and I don’t care,” Garrett calls back. He picks himself up off the ground and dusts off his jeans. They’ve since dried after his little dip in the creek, but he spies a suspicious wet spot trailing up from his ankle to mid-calf. He checks the dirt around him, and sure enough, there’s a long trail of moisture all along the ground.

“Hey, Kim, you got any spare jeans laying around? Boomer pissed on me!”

The woman makes a noise of disgust and retreats into the house. Garrett snickers and heads up the path, his faithful dog right at his side.

 

Freshly changed and cleaned of dirt and other grime, Garrett catches up with Kim at the kitchen table.

“Yeah, Pastor Jeffries got me out of there before John could make me ‘atone,’” he says around the mouth of a beer bottle.

“Small miracles, huh?” Kim shakes her head, crossing her arms on the table. “When we heard you got caught, Nick was just beside himself. He figured it was his fault since the last thing you did was help us out.”

“What? Don’t ever think that. I raise so much hell around here it was gonna happen sooner or later.” She doesn’t look convinced, but Garrett carries on. He doubts he’ll be able to change her mind. “I met Joseph again.”

At that, Kim cringes. “Oh, God. Hopefully you were tripping hard enough to forget that.”

“Mm, unfortunately not.” Garrett takes a swig. “Well, I forgot some of it. Or I just wasn’t paying attention, which is also a very valid option. He was wearing a shirt this time around.”

“Once again, small miracles.” They laugh together, and for the first time since the colors appeared, Garrett feels normal. It’s nice talking to a friend, even if it’s not about the actual problem.

“You hungry?” Kim asks suddenly. “Actually, I don’t care if you are. I feel like you’ll say no.”

“You got me there,” Garrett admits.

“Go get Nick, would you? He’s out there tinkering with that goddamn plane again. You know, he talks about stress like _he’s_ the one carrying another human being inside him.”

Garrett chuckles, setting his beer down. He pushes himself out of the creaky chair. Boomer emerges from underneath the table, attaching himself to Garrett’s side like glue.

“I’m not getting in the middle of that one. I’ll go get him, though.”

“Thanks, dep. What do you like on your sandwich?”

“Literally anything. You could put a piece of trash between two slices of bread and I’d eat it.” Kim makes a face, but nods. Garrett clicks his tongue for Boomer to follow, then heads out the back door.

Once he gets past the little bit of foliage in their yard, both Nick and Carmina become fully visible. Garrett remembers Nick saying Carmina is yellow; he’s glad to put a name to the color. He approaches the plane slowly, watching the man work. Garrett’s not even sure Nick knows he’s there.

“Jesus _Christ_ , that’s abrasive,” Garrett says loudly, grabbing Nick’s attention. “Have you considered painting her somethin’ different? Maybe tree color. Then she’ll blend in.”

Nick whips around to glare at Garrett. “Carmina’s been in my family for two generations! Why would I paint her a different color?” Something clicks into place, and Nick gapes. He picks himself up off the ground to offer Garrett a (slightly greasy) fist bump, which he accepts.

“I’d hold that for now. You can’t take back a fist bump.”

“Too late, dep. You accepted. Who is it? Why aren’t they with you?”

Garrett frowns. “Tell you over lunch, ‘kay? Oh, that’s why I came out here, by the way. Kim wants you in.”

Nick nods, wiping his hands off on a stained cloth hanging out of his belt. “I’ll be right in. Lemme just put my tools away so someone don’t just come around and take ‘em.”

“I’ll help, man.”

 

The three eat in a comfortable silence, Boomer begging for scraps from each of them. Nick is the only one who indulges the persistent heeler, making him the recipient of the most begging.

“I really want to apologize for, you know,” Nick gestures vaguely. “Getting you captured. I know it wouldn’t’ve happened if I just did it myself.”

“Oh, it’s not your fault. It’ll never be your fault. It was bound to happen, and it was just coincidence that it happened after that.” Garrett takes a few more bites of his sandwich before continuing. “’Sides, there’s _no_ way he just found me out of nowhere. His goons had to be tracking me for a few days at least.”

Nick grunts in response. Stubborn assholes, both of them. Garrett decides to change the subject.

“Kim, I forgot to say that I love your shirt. What color is that?” he asks.

“Oh, thanks. It’s- wait.” Kim’s face lights up with a huge grin. “Oh my God! Who?”

“Hold onto your seats, guys, this one’s a lot to swallow.” They both stare at him expectantly, curiosity gleaming in their eyes.

“John fuckin’ Seed.” The excitement drops off her face _immediately_. “Yeah. I’m pissed, too.”

“I’m gonna go ahead and revoke that fist bump. Erase it from your memory, please,” Nick says in a deadpan.

“Too late, buddy.”

Kim wipes at her face with a paper towel, then balls it up on her plate. “What are you going to do?” she inquires.

“It’s _John Seed_. You can’t just run into his arms and be all happy-ever-after,” Nick says. “Hell, I don’t even think it’s _possible_ to do that with him.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I mean, this is something people wait their entire lives for. And soulmates aren’t, like, a _fluke_. There’s something about both of us that makes us somehow perfect for each other.”

“I don’t see you going around torturing innocent folk. Maybe this is the exception to the rule.” Kim slaps Nick on the arm, glaring. The pilot promptly shuts his mouth.

“Do you think he’s gonna be looking for you even harder? Would he try to capture you again and _not_ let you go?”

Kim seems the most distressed. Garrett’s glad he’s had some time to dance around his thoughts; they’re not as shocking, at least. It’s a lot more relieving to talk about it than he’d expected, though. Nick doesn’t seem disgusted with _him_ , at least, more so with John, like it’s somehow his fault that they’re fated to be together.

“I guess time will tell.” Garrett sighs and sets the rest of his sandwich down. Suddenly he feels sick. “I don’t know. I feel like I should get out of Holland Valley. Maybe raise some hell in the mountains or across the river.”

“What about your friend? Hudson?” Nick asks.

“She’s alive, and she’s the only person keeping me from just lighting up everything John owns. He knows that. She’ll be safe, at least,” Garrett reasons. He doesn’t know if it’s true. The youngest Seed brother is unpredictable, but he’s smart. “As for Pratt and the Marshal…” He trails off, thinking. He has no idea how Staci is holding up, but if any of the rumors about Jacob are true, probably not well. The Marshal is a toss-up.

“We should hold up fine over here. You’ve done so much work, there’s no way _anyone_ will let the Peggies ruin what you’ve accomplished here,” Kim says confidently. “Give the rest of Hope County that extra push.”

Kim lays her hand over Garrett’s, squeezing reassuringly. He doesn’t have any words to express how much he _loves_ this little family and everything they mean to him, even after such a short period of knowing them.

Garrett’s mind is made up, now that he doesn’t feel like he’s abandoning them for his own selfish reasons. If dealing with his soulmate means running away from him while he sorts his shit out, then so be it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is completely in John's POV and boy howdy, I struggled with this chapter for several days and it's still not very long.  
> Regardless, I hope you all enjoy (and let's pray that it's not too out of character). I'll get the next chapter out soon to make up for this mess!
> 
> special thanks to my best friend and beta for putting up with my shit!! ilysm sweetie <3333

“You will confess. Every sin you’ve ever committed, no matter how petty, no matter how small,” John pauses, searching the other man’s face. The drugged deputy absorbs his words with a shaken look, whether from the words themselves, the Bliss, or the change in sight he’s surely experiencing, he doesn’t know. “I will pull from you. Then we’ll see if you’re worthy of Atonement.”

He doesn’t want to leave the deputy, not after what he’s just learned, but something about this situation _must_ be wrong. He needs something. He’s not sure what it is. Joseph always knows the answers. Maybe he can find them now.

John offers his follower a shallow nod, gesturing toward the waiting van. He considers touching the deputy again, but this is his _enemy_ , no matter what fate or God says. He brushes past his follower to follow Joseph, whose retreating form has nearly disappeared in the darkness. A bit of light glitters on the shallow pool nearby, casting an array of colors in John’s peripherals. Frustrated, he tries to blink it away, tries to will away the tingling in his fingers.

He’s beside Joseph before he even realizes, so distracted by his own thoughts. His older brother looks at him curiously. Waiting, always _waiting_.

“Can I speak to you privately?” John requests. He feels so meek underneath Joseph’s gaze. He doesn’t know why; the only thing reflected in his eyes is understanding.

“Of course, John.” Joseph leads his brother a little further off, away from prying eyes and ears.

John hasn’t gathered his words, not yet. He stands in embarrassed silence for what feels like an eternity, then blurts out a jumble of words in a hideously broken exclamation.

“That deputy- he, he, we’re- I touched him, and we- and he-” John scrubs his hands down his face. Joseph’s gentle touch is upon his shoulders again, grounding the younger Seed.

“Did I not tell you he was different?”

“Joseph, I don’t need an ‘I told you so.’ What do I _do?_ ”

“Make him see. Let him reach Atonement. The goal is the same.”

Not helpful. At all. John doesn’t say that, though. Instead he nods. He’s not even sure if he’s agreeing or just signaling his understanding. He has no idea if he even understands, his thoughts racing through his head so fast he’s dizzy with them.

“John, you can figure this out on your own. I know you will. Get some rest and think about it.” Joseph pats his shoulder, almost brings him in for the signature gentle headbutt, but decides against it. “I’m happy for you, brother.”

They don’t say anything else to each other. John doesn’t even know _what_ to say, even now. He’s always been very articulate and careful with his words. His profession demands it. He had to be careful with the way he spoke while they were chipping away at Hope County’s real estate.

Yet now, in the wake of such a world-shattering revelation he thought would never come, brought forth by a man he’d never expect it to be, he’s rendered speechless. Completely and utterly speechless, for the first time in his life.

 

He takes Joseph’s advice. Not that he can really call it advice so much as common sense. Still, it helps. He can’t sleep, not with the unhinged train that are his thoughts running rampant through his head. With his body at rest, he can focus on individual thoughts more clearly.

John doubts he’ll come to terms with it in a night, or even a week. He’s not sure if he’ll ever come to terms with this. It could be worse, he supposes. He could just not _have_ a soulmate. Although he doesn’t see a problem with that option, either. It’d make things a hell of a lot easier.

He doesn’t know when he dozed off. One minute he was sorting through his thoughts, a book in hand (which he wasn’t reading, but at least he could pretend everything was normal), the next his phone was ringing and he was jolting awake and hanging halfway off the couch.

John fumbles around clumsily, a little disoriented. His neck aches a little from the odd angle he’d fallen asleep at and he can feel his hair sticking up in the back. Finally, his fingers wrap around the vibrating device. It had fallen out of his pocket and in between the cushions.

It’s only 2 am and already he has six missed calls. He begrudgingly answers; nobody would call him if it wasn’t important. Their definition of important might differ from his, but John is nothing if not _caring_.

“What?” he spits into the receiver.

“I’m sorry for waking you, John. It’s important.”

“What’s important?” _What did you guys fuck up?_

“They’re gone. All the cleansed seeking atonement. They’re dead.”

“What about the deputy?”

“He’s not here. He escaped.”

It’s like a rock has settled in John’s stomach. He’s not sure what emotion he’s feeling. He’s not even going to begin dissecting that beast. Underneath it all, though, he’s angry. He’s angry at the deputy, his incompetent followers, and himself for thinking this wouldn’t be in the realm of possibility.

“John? Please answer,” the man on the other end almost begs. John must have been silent for a while now, enough to warrant worry. Or fear.

“I don’t know why you’re calling me and wasting my time. _Find him._ It’s not a hard task.”

He hangs up before he can say anything else he might regret. John tosses his phone on the coffee table and leans back, covering his face with both hands. Maybe when he takes them away, his face will follow. It’ll be an improvement to his current situation.

“You’re lucky I got _some_ sleep, deputy,” he grinds out. God, he wishes that insufferable man is here with him right now. All the work John’s put in, squashed beneath Garrett’s boot.

Joseph won’t be happy to hear of this, either.

Dammit.

 

 

It’s been nearly two weeks and John finally, _finally_ has his own feelings under wraps. He’s still pissed about Garrett’s escape. He’ll probably be pissed about that for a while, if not at everyone else than at least himself for allowing such stupidity.

His soulmate could be much worse. Although the man is infuriating and seems to have no regard for all the time and money John and his family have funneled into their project, he can hold his own and seems independent enough that John won’t have to keep his eye on him 24/7. The end goal is still the same, just with a better reward: make Garrett part of their flock, no matter what.

In the time it’s taken John to figure out his own issues, the deputy has been suspiciously quiet. Probably sorting out his emotions, too. It’s been long enough; if Garrett can’t decide how he feels yet, John will just have to help him along.

The radio he uses has been used very little since that fateful day. He’ll have to gather up his best once more to track down the deputy. John doesn’t have any leads this time around, but he’s waited this long. He can wait a few more days.

He radios his team. If his boot starts tapping impatiently, no one’s around to see. The fresh air blowing in from the open door beckons him onto the porch in his wait. The air is chilly, but the sun shines cheerfully over the mountains. It’s been noisy the past few days and John has baptisms to do later, so he’s glad for the peace.

He inhales deeply, letting the crisp air fill his lungs before dispelling the air languidly. If there’s one thing he love about Montana, it’s the outdoors. The bugs and wildlife can go to hell, but nothing beats a cool morning on the porch when he can watch the mountains and read.

The radio in his hand makes a weak little _bleep_ and crackles to life. The familiar voice of his top tracker asks him to repeat, so he does.

“You want us to find the deputy?” the other man asks incredulously.

“Yes. Why is that a problem?” Immediately, his calm morning is ruined.

“He’s not in Holland Valley, sir,” he responds- slowly, cautious, like John might bite. “He crossed over into Faith’s territory over a week ago. I heard he’s been causing a ruckus in Jacob’s mountains the past few days, too.”

John wants to _smash_ the little radio in his hand until there’s nothing left. He doesn’t even respond to the other man, just storms back inside and throws his radio on the table. It slides off and clatters to the floor; he’ll have to pick that up later, see if it still works. The rational part of his brain tells him that if Garrett is off messing with Jacob or Faith, he’ll be found sooner or later. The childish part of him refuses to listen to reason. He doesn’t _want_ them to capture the deputy. _He_ wants to do it, so he can convince the man to join _his_ way.

He paces and storms around the living room for approximately five minutes before he winds down and actually _thinks_. He listens to the rational part of his brain. Joseph has almost definitely told the rest of their odd little family about John’s soulmate, and while he doesn’t think Garrett deserves any sort of mercy (he still needs to atone, to be punished somehow for the things he’s done), surely they won’t fuck up the deputy too horribly.

One way or another, the deputy will be caught. He’d rather it be by his own hand, he’d rather it be _right now_ , but he knows all too well about waiting. John can wait for this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to be two, but I wanted to get them over and done with so I could get back into the soulmate aspect in the next one.
> 
> Your comments and kudos are my lifeblood and I love and appreciate each and every one of them!

It’s been an interesting in week in Faith’s region. He’s met some eccentric individuals, namely “Sharky” Boshaw and Miss Mable. Peaches is an absolute dollface, though, so he can’t complain about Mable’s poor manners.

Garrett made the difficult decision to leave Holland Valley, at least until he sorted out his own thoughts and emotions on the soulmate issue. He’d left two days after meeting with the Ryes again, helping around the house during the day and sleeping on their couch with Boomer on his chest at night. They’re the closest he’s had to family since his mother died and his gratitude for them is immeasurable. In a way, it feels like they’d meant to meet each other, like they were his _true_ soulmates.

He feels guilty for leaving Joey behind. She’s not safe, not _really_ , just not in danger of being killed. He thinks. He _hopes._ Pratt’s well-being weighs heavily on his mind, as well. Across the Henbane, at least, there are other people to help to take Garrett’s mind off them. Saving Hope County jail was a big accomplishment. There’s plenty of work to be done there, too.

While it doesn’t necessarily help anyone (just his wallet, mostly), Garrett’s taken up fishing. He justifies it by saying people need the food, but he’s in _Montana_. He figures everyone in the state knows how to fish.

Now is one of those times where he takes advantage of the rare peace just to fish. Boomer naps behind him, a comforting and very damp presence. The dog decided to take a dip in the shallows before Garrett could stop him. He doesn’t mind his dog having fun, but the smell of wet fur and fish is a little repulsive. It could be worse, he supposes. There could be a dead body just off to the side.

Some fish splash in the water’s slow current, others poking their heads out curiously. It’s an ideal place to fish, but Garrett hasn’t even gotten a nibble.

“Is it the nightcrawlers?” he mutters to himself, reeling in yet another slack line. The color has bled out of the worm and it no longer wiggles enticingly. “Channel cats would go nuts for you.”

He tosses the deceased worm into the water. It disappears within the murky depths, but a shiny set of scales chases after the prey. It’s in that moment that Garrett realizes his technique is off entirely. Bass like to chase, and here Garrett is sitting around like an idiot treating them like catfish and thinking patience would persevere.

“Boomer, dad’s not very smart,” he says. The heeler’s ears twitch at the sound of his name, but otherwise he doesn’t move a muscle.

The deputy goes about baiting his hook again, humming a tune he’s heard over the radio. He’s loath to admit it, but some of the cult’s songs are pretty catchy. He wouldn’t be caught dead listening to them, though.

Garrett casts his line again, reeling slowly. He casts a few more times before he gets anywhere, but soon he gets the faintest nibble, then a bite. He jerks and reels his catch in, though the bass puts up a little fight. In the end his persistence wins. The rock bass’ scales shimmer and glisten in the sunlight. Garrett is awestruck by the play of colors of the animal’s scales, as well as the effect the water has on them. The only positive of finding his soulmate is the beauty he finds in the world, now.

He pulls the hook out of the fish’s mouth with careful fingers and holds the creature up to examine it. It’s not very big and Garrett’s not sure how good it would taste. He considers tossing it back in the water, but Boomer is suddenly _very_ interested in what his owner is doing.

“You like seafood, pal?” Boomer licks his chops in response, ears stiff and pointed forward. Garrett tosses the fish onto the dirt. It barely has time to flop before Boomer is on top of it, tearing flesh from bone. Garrett makes sure to supervise; he remembers having to figure out the Heimlich on one of his dad’s hunting dogs when it swallowed fish bones. He’d hate for that to happen to his baby.

Boomer doesn’t have to be told to stop eating. Once he’s done with the fish, he reclaims his place at Garrett’s back.

Garrett ends up catching a few more fish. He feeds another small one to Boomer, but at a certain point he feels like he’s taking more than is strictly necessary. There are four in his dirty little bucket and that’s enough. They probably aren’t worth much, but any money is better than no money.

“Alright, Boomer. Let’s see if we can find someone to buy these fishies before a bear kills us and takes off with them.” As usual, Boomer only offers his blank stare of enthusiastic confusion.

 

Garrett did have to ditch the fish. Two died in the bucket and a black bear was prowling too close for comfort. Next time, he’ll just have to fish closer to town, or at least with someone else.

After an ultimately unsuccessful day spent fishing, Garrett figured he should head back to the jail and see if Tracey or Virgil needed anything. The sun is just starting to descend toward the horizon, so a rest might be in order once he gets there. If not for him, then for his dog. They’ve had far too many encounters with Bliss and Garrett wants to keep Boomer healthy. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that awful drug did anything to his best friend.

As the sun dips lower and Garrett’s steps begin to grow sluggish, the cries of a woman echo through the trees. Both stop dead. Garrett holds his gun a little closer, waiting for another scream. It comes shortly after and he can pinpoint a direction. He clicks his tongue to call Boomer; ever faithful, the heeler walks at his side.

The screams become louder and much clearer. Garrett lowers to a crouch, using his rifle’s sights to find the woman. Boomer lays at his feet, panting and shaking. It’s odd behavior from the normally confident dog; he chalks it up to the despair in the woman’s voice.

Scanning the tree line, Garrett finally spots a woman dragging behind a cultist. She’s grabbing at the dirt and grass uselessly. He doesn’t even think. He takes the shot, nails the cultist in the neck. He falls with a soft noise, body hidden by the untamed grass.

A quick check confirms there aren’t anymore Peggies around; Garrett gets his hustle on, jogging over to the terrified civilian. As he gets closer, Boomer begins to growl and whimper. The dog stops quite a distance away, but Garrett doesn’t realize, too focused on helping the woman. She didn’t appear to be injured before, but she’s not getting up.

“Please, help me,” she begs.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry. You’re safe.”

The deputy kneels down to assess the damage. As he thought, she isn’t injured, but her ankles are tied together rather tightly. He cuts through the coarse rope with a pocket knife. The woman moves her legs a bit to make sure they still work, then thanks Garrett profusely.

“Don’t worry about it. You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll- I should be fine. Thank you again.”

“Seriously, don’t mention it. Here, let me help you up.” Garrett stands back up and offers the woman his hand. She takes it gratefully, then yanks the deputy back down to her level. He’s too shocked to respond in time, but Boomer suddenly erupts in a series of violent barks.

“Gotcha,” the woman whispers, and she doesn’t sound like herself anymore. She blows something in his face; it puffs out at him in a cloud of unpleasantness. Garrett stumbles back, trying to reach for his handgun. His awareness begins to fade away, vision swimming. “Welcome to the Bliss.” Boomer’s frenzied barking grows distant, Garrett falls to the hard ground, and everything goes black.

 

When Garrett comes to, everything is different. He feels… lighter, somehow, like all his worries have been sloughed off like a dead weight. The world around him is, admittedly, a little fuzzy, but beautiful. Every sensation is so visceral, from the tall blades of grass brushing against his skin to the butterflies fluttering about him.

He doesn’t get to observe for very long. Mere moments after he’s arrived in this wonderful place, a familiar voice speaks in his ears.

“I know you’ve heard stories about me,” Faith says softly. “That I’m a liar. A manipulator. That I poison people’s minds.”

When Garrett looks around, he’s suddenly standing. Faith is holding his hand in both of hers, cradling the appendage like it’s something precious. He doesn’t care much for the words she says, not that he’s even entirely listening. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the voice of reason intrudes. _Don’t listen, don’t listen…_

“Well, let me tell you a different story. A _true_ story…”

The enchanting woman leads him on, guiding patiently. Their hands skim over the weeds and tall grasses. In his intoxicated mind, Garrett muses that she looks like a fairy. Maybe she _is_ a fairy. Why else would he be here?

She turns sharply, holding Garrett’s hands again. He glances down at their joined fingers, wiggling his a little confirm the sensation. It feels so real. They kneel on the ground together. Garrett is captivated by Faith’s eyes; he feels like he could stare forever. Reason speaks up again, reminding, ruining, interrupting, _always_ interrupting. _She’s a liar, don’t listen…_

“There once was a young woman who had been ostracized by her community. Bullied by friends. Abused by her family.” Faith pauses. A look of pain crosses her striking features; Garrett wants nothing more than to stop that pain. He remains silent, though. “She took to a needle for help. She was all alone. She wanted to die.”

She casts her gaze downward, taking a brief moment of silence. Recovering from remembering, preparing for what she’ll say next. He doesn’t know. He waits for her melodic voice eagerly; he’s not sure why, but she’s the most breathtaking thing he’s ever seen. Maybe this place is affecting him. He becomes unsure, tries to back away, but Faith holds his hands that much tighter. Her eyes open again, boring into his in the most pleasant way.

“And then she met The Father.”

With a delighted laugh, Faith pulls Garrett with her, running through the field. Another butterfly glides past, circling for a moment before taking off in the other direction. His eyes follow the insect, but he’s drawn back to Faith the moment her voice fills his ears again. She’s speaking so softly, yet he can hear and _feel_ her voice so intimately, like she’s beaming her words directly into his skull.

“He gave her hope, and confidence!” She twirls a short distance away, “The Father showed her how special she was, that she was full of love and life. He gave her a new family, one that accepted her just as she was.

“The young woman no longer wished to die. She had been given purpose.” As she spoke, she lowered her head. A burst of light sprouts from her back, encasing her in an ethereal pair of wings. In a slow drag of movement, she glides upward into the air. Garrett watches, awestruck, as she floats above him.

Faith smiles down at him, then beckons him closer. Garrett obediently steps forward and she takes his hands, wrapping them in a soft embrace. He lifts from the ground, as well, guided by Faith once more.

“One day, The Father brought her here.” Pulling the deputy further along, she wipes her arm through the thick fog. The atmosphere itself seems to move away at her insistence, the fog parting to reveal a stone effigy in the distance. It captures Joseph’s likeness wonderfully. Garrett remembers the statue. Uncertainty fills his mind again, logic making its appearance. He doesn’t let it interrupt his thoughts this time, wiping the intrusive feelings away like Faith cast the fog aside.

“He asked if she had _faith_ in him. He asked if she would be willing to die for him.” They glide through the clouds quickly, approaching the intimidating statue at an alarming speed. Garrett almost worries they’ll both collide with it if they don’t slow down. His worries don’t come to fruition, though.

“The young woman, who very much wanted to live, was scared. The Father told her this was her test. He would have faith in her if she had faith in him.”

Faith sets Garrett down on the carving of the book. Just in front of him is Marshal Burke, enshrouded in butterflies. He has a peaceful look, smiling faintly.

“So, she closed her eyes,” Faith continues, retreating backwards into the sky, “and leapt. The Father kept his word. The Path to Eden is clear to those who have faith.”

The Marshal holds his gloved hand out, beckoning. “Walk the Path.”

It’s so tempting. Garrett feels like he must. The Marshal spreads his arms and drops, plummeting downward. Doubt spreads through the deputy. What if The Father doesn’t have faith in him? What if he doesn’t have faith in the Father? The ledge is daunting. He peers over the edge, considering.

“You must have faith. Let go.” Faith’s voice fills his head again. His mind is made up. Garrett takes a single step back, breathes in deeply, and gathers his courage.

As he throws himself off the edge, he feels weightless. Entirely boneless. Fear floods his entire being like a plague as the reality of what he’s done sets in. The rocky slopes of Montana will surely kill him. He swears he’ll hit the ground at any moment, and it’ll be over. Everything he’s done, everything he’s hoped for. The crash doesn’t come, though. Like before, when the woman blew the dust in his face, his consciousness fades away.

 

Everything hurts, and Garrett has a headache that rivals the one he had on the night of his “baptism.” He doesn’t dare open his eyes, for fear of what he’ll see. Faith’s detached voice echoes through his skull once more, although she doesn’t sound very angelic anymore. She sounds human, and entirely normal.

“Do you feel different? Do you feel alive?” she asks, almost teasing. “The first step is always the scariest, but we all have faith in you. Follow the Pilgrimage. Walk the Path.” Then, sweetly, like she can predict Garrett’s every move, “I’ll see you soon.”

 

Garrett’s awareness comes back slowly. He feels like he’s had the longest, worst nap possible in history. He isn’t ready to open his eyes. His fingers flex and he can move all his limbs. His feet are asleep, though. There’s a warm, heavy weight on top of him. He _needs_ to see what it is, _prays_ that it isn’t a bear, and cracks his eyelids open a tad.

Laying on his chest is Boomer, soft brown eyes pleading and sad. Garrett groans quietly and reaches up sluggishly, running his stiff fingers through soft fur. The dog’s wet tongue comes out to lather his face in excited kisses, but the heeler can tell his master isn’t in any condition to get up and play just yet. The dog remains vigil, content to lie on Garrett’s chest and guard until he’s ready to get up.

Truthfully, Garrett doesn’t want to get up. He’d be entirely happy if he could just lie on the hard ground for eternity, maybe let the dirt open up and swallow him whole. The Bliss leaves him feeling uncomfortably heavy and achy. Frankly, he’s sick of this damn drug.

The moon has made a full appearance, peeking out of the trees coyly. It’s too cloudy for Garrett to make out any stars. The air is chilly with a slight breeze, a definite change since his last moments of consciousness.

“Hey, Boom,” he croaks out. The dog’s ears perk up and he stares directly into Garrett’s eyes. “You’re gonna have to get up, buddy.”

Boomer hoists himself up with a little grunt. Garrett can tell he’s been there a while. The man sits up, assessing the area. He certainly doesn’t remember being here when he was drugged, but the location is familiar. Unless he’s horribly mistaken, the jail shouldn’t be too far away, just over a few hills. Still, he doesn’t feel up for the trek. He’s sure Boomer doesn’t, either.

“Let’s get out of the open, buddy. We’ll just camp out somewhere for tonight, huh?”

With Boomer in tow, Garrett abandons his unsafe resting spot to venture further in the woods. He’s not entirely stead, often losing balance or tripping over his own feet, but his dog is there the entire time, ready to assist.

Not a single patch of wilderness will ever be truly safe with Eden’s Gate patrolling tirelessly, but the deputy feels secure in the spot he’s chosen. Garrett creates a little spot against the trunk of a sturdy-looking pine and slides down. It’s not comfortable, but it’ll do. He’s not tired, not after his run-in with Faith, but Boomer is. He pats the space between his legs and the dog crawls in, curling up against his master. He heaves a great sigh and finally lays still, one leg thrown over Garrett’s thigh, either a protective gesture or a vulnerable one. As Boomer drifts off to sleep, Garrett hums a little tune. _It’s going to be a long night._

 

Boomer and Garrett made it through the night unscathed. Nothing really tried to bother them, other than the visions of Faith that liked to tease the deputy.  They disappeared in a cloud of Bliss when he threw rocks at them, though. A curious deer came along once or twice but bounded off when Garrett tried to look at it. All things considered, it’s been one of the safest moments he’s spent in Hope County’s wilderness.

The moment Boomer was rested enough, they were off again. The sun had yet to make its grand appearance, but the birds were chirping gleefully, marking the start of a new day.

The trek to the jail isn’t as grueling as Garrett expected. He doesn’t tell anyone about his experience with Faith, lest they show signs of distrust toward him. His head is clear, the hallucinations he sees are standard, and he doesn’t feel the burning need to follow the woman’s orders. Talking about it would just be too much information.

For the next two days, Garrett runs errands and jobs for Tracey and the Sheriff. When the work runs out, he stocks up on supplies and makes the decision to cross over to the mountains. There’s plenty more work to be done here, but if he’s already on Faith’s radar, he’d rather not get to know her better.

 

 

“Hurk, I need you over in the railyard. You’re closest and these guys are armed pretty heavily.”

“Yeah, man, I’ll be there before you know it, man!”

“Alright, sweet. Please come in quietly! It’s a stealth mission.”

Hurk doesn’t reply, but Garrett assumes he heard. Hopes, anyway. Boomer is laying low in the tall grass, just as he’d commanded, and the deputy himself is hiding out on the grated walkway of a nearby billboard. He has a great view of the entire outpost and it’s not looking so good. There are two alarms he needs to take out, and _several_ cultists are roaming around, including a sniper on the roof.

For once in his life, Garrett just wants a damn vacation. Yes, he chose to come into Jacob’s territory, and _yes_ , he happened upon the outpost all by himself. Doesn’t mean he likes all the shooting and the sneaking, though. He _really_ hates the Judges. Beneath the intense hatred, there’s sympathy for the poor creatures. They didn’t ask to be turned into drug-fueled monsters.

A guard abandons one of the alarms to talk to a fellow cultist. Garrett doesn’t let the chance escape. He aims at the yellow device and takes it out with one shot. The other alarm is partially obscured by a pole, but it’s also cultist-free. If he could lean out a little and shoot it, he’d be safe.

In the distance, but too close for comfort, the high-pitched squeal of an ATV’s engine comes into his hearing range. He thinks it’s back-up, maybe a small patrol, but to his horror, it’s neither. Bursting from the trees like a bat out of hell comes Hurk, whooping obnoxiously.

“What’s he doing? Jesus Christ, _what is he doing?!_ ”

The sudden chaos sets Boomer off. The heeler springs like a coil, rushing at the nearest Peggie in a frenzy of savage barks and snarls. Garrett curses loudly and shimmies down the ladder as fast as he can. In his haste to reach his dog, he drops his rifle. He unholsters his handgun while he sprints across the short expanse of land. A barrage of bullets whizz past him; the deputy slides behind a crate and regains composure.

The remaining alarm hasn’t gone off yet. He worries that someone is running for it. Garrett peeks out of cover to check on the device. The feeling that comes over him is similar to relief, but he can’t relax just yet. Hurk had crashed his ATV into the alarm, rendering it useless and broken. Damn that man but thank God for small miracles.

Garrett is brought back to the moment by Boomer’s loud yelp ringing out across the railyard. His eyes search frantically for his dog, but amidst the gunfire and explosions (courtesy of the prodigal Drubman son) he can’t seem to find him. Panic washes over him and everything after that moment is based on instinct.

There aren’t as many cultists now. The sniper is down, as well as one of the heavy guards. In his rush, he collides with a cultist who wasn’t paying attention. They both topple to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Garrett doesn’t recover as quickly as the other man, and in seconds the cultist is on top of him with strong hands around the deputy’s throat. He thrashes uselessly and tries to pry his hands off his neck. All it earns him is a swift punch to the face, knocking his skull into the hard ground. Garrett can feel the blood running down his nose and into his mouth, can taste the coppery substance. His skull is throbbing and his nerves are alight with pain. The adrenaline running through his veins is enough to keep him going, though, even without any oxygen in his lungs.

Once again, Garrett moves to defend himself, but instead of prying the cultist’s hands off his neck, he goes for the eyes. He digs his thumbs into the sockets, trying so hard to ignore the sickening noises and the other man’s screaming. It has the desired effect, though; he’s free to take in massive gulps of air. With the momentum of adrenaline and newfound confidence, Garrett surges upward to gain the upper hand. His thumbs don’t leave the cultist’s eye sockets until he sees blood.

The Peggie cries in agony, clutching his face. Garrett ends his pain quickly enough; his gun is a short few inches away. He picks up the .44 and shoots the cultist in the forehead once, twice, three times. It’s savage and sadistic and it makes his insides churn with disgust and sickness, but the man lays dead now.

When Garrett is back on his feet, there are only a couple more Peggies left. Boomer is still nowhere in sight. Hurk is on top of the roof, shouting something that Garrett can’t make out. He’s sure it’s just a series of taunting, though.

The last two cultists fall, one by Garrett’s gun and the other in a loud explosion provided by Hurk. The sweatpants-clad man-child slides back to the ground, still mumbling about something as he approaches the deputy. Garrett can’t help himself; he punches Hurk in the arm as hard as he can.

“Ow, man, what the hell?!” he exclaims, rubbing his bicep. Garrett can already see his pale skin bloom in an angry red. It’s sure to bruise.

“I told you to come in _quiet!_ When you came in guns a-blazin’, Boomer ran off and now I can’t find him. He could be dead!”

“It’s just a dog, man, ‘sides, I’m sure he’s fine.” Garrett feels the urge to punch him again. He even says so.

“Hurk, I swear to Christ I will punch you again, and this time it’s not gonna be in the arm,” he threatens. “Help me find Boomer.”

The two set about looking for the dog, calling his name and whistling. When Garrett reaches the other side of the railyard, he spots two bloody pawprints leading into the tall grass. All he feels is an overwhelming sense of dread. He searches through the grass, pushing it aside with his hands, when he hears a soft whimper. He follows the sound to an injured Boomer.

“Oh my God. Baby, sweetie, are you okay?” Garrett rushes to his dog’s side, searching for the injury. His hands roam over his coarse, dirty fur, until he spots it.

On his back paw, one of the toes is mangled to the point his claw is missing, and the pad is cut open, likely by a stray piece of metal. It could be so much worse, and Garrett is thankful that it isn’t.

“Boomer, you poor boy,” he whispers. He hoists the dog up and into his arms, carrying him back into the open.

“Hurk!” Garrett calls out. Hurk whips around.

“Yeah?”

“Get on the radio, tell the Resistance that the Copperhead railyard is cleared out.”

“Can do, deputy!”

Garrett spends the next few minutes fixing up Boomer’s paw. He needs proper medical attention, maybe stitches, but for now a heap of bandages and ointment will do. He might have to make a trip back to the jail to see the doctor.

“Might make him happy to have another animal patient, huh buddy?” Boomer simply licks his hands. Their little moment is interrupted by Hurk.

“Resistance said they’d be here, man. They asked if we’d stick around for a bit, keep watch.”

Garrett nods. “Sorry for punching you, dude. Boomer’s just been a real huge part of my life lately. He’s family.”

“Nah, I get it, man. I was bein’ a jackass.” He kneels by the deputy and reaches out to pet the heeler. Boomer growls once, but ultimately accepts the ear scratches.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while. Garrett watches the trees and looks out toward the distant mountains and Hurk fiddles around a few feet away. The mountains are even more breathtaking now that Garrett can see the colors decorating their steep hills and daunting peaks.

“I wish I knew what some of these colors are called. They’re so pretty,” Garrett says. It’s mostly to himself.

“Aw you met your soulmate? Man, that’s lucky. I’m happy for you,” Hurk chimes in.

The deputy snorts in amusement. “Don’t know if lucky’s the word for it. My soulmate’s a fuckin’ asshole.”

“That sucks, man. Did you meet ‘em back home?”

“Nope, it’s a recent ordeal.” Garrett huffs out a sigh, wonders if he should even tell him. It’d make him feel better if he does, at least. “It’s John Seed. And before you ask, yes. _That_ John Seed.”

“Dude, that’s super fucked up and weird, ‘cause I knew a guy back on Rook Island- name’s Jason, he’s one of my tatbros- he met his soulmate there, too. He was this crazy pirate guy, always yellin’ about insanity or some shit. They were enemies too. Really fucked Jason up when he had to kill him.”

“Really? How?”

“Apparently all the color went away. Made him real depressed, man. Plus he said there was somethin’ wrong with him, like he felt like somethin’ was missin’.”

Garrett hums back in his throat, nodding. “Thanks, Hurk. That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard. Really appreciate it.”

“No problem, man,” he replies.

Moments later, the first Resistance members show up. Garrett speaks with them briefly, explaining the area and what he had to deal with. Once he’s sure they can handle themselves, he heads back to Hurk.

“If you wanna stick around a little longer, I heard some distress calls a while ago around the F.A.N.G. center.”

“Sure, man, I’d be glad-“ Mary May’s voice cuts him off mid-sentence, crackling from Garrett’s radio.

“Deputy, long time no see!” There’s some interference and her voice sounds distant, but they can hear her. Garrett steps away from Hurk, wondering if the two radios so close together is messing with the connection.

“Hey, Miss Fairgrave. What’s goin’ on?”

“Sorry, deputy, this ain’t a social call. I wouldn’t be calling at all if it wasn’t important.”

“What is it?”

“The cult’s been taking all our fuel. We’ve tried stealing some tankers back, but everyone we’ve sent hasn’t returned. I really hate doing this, but I’m afraid we need you, Dep.”

Dammit. It’s not a trip he’ll be looking forward to, but he has to return eventually. It might as well be now.

“Alright. I can be at Fall’s End in a couple hours, I think.” Then, jokingly, “You guys think you’ll survive till then?”

“Of course we will,” she retorts. “Thanks a lot, deputy. I know you’re busy, but it really means a lot that you’re doing this.”

Hurk comes up behind him as soon as they’re done talking. “Hey, man, we raidin’ the F.A.N.G. place?”

“Nope, you’re gonna head home. I’ve got business in Holland Valley.”

“Oh. Alright, man, stay safe. Kick some ass for me, alright?” They do a little fist bump and part ways.

Garrett whistles sharply for Boomer. The heeler trots over excitedly. His injury doesn’t seem to be bothering him much, but he’s not putting much weight on the affected foot. Garrett will have to leave him at Fall’s End, then maybe with the Ryes until his paw heals. It’ll destroy him, but at least he has Peaches now.

“Wanna go for a ride? Wanna go bye-bye?” Garrett asks happily. Boomer yaps once in response and does a quick turn; “dancing,” as he calls it. “Go get in the truck. Come on, let’s go!”

Boomer leads the way to their totally legally-acquired vehicle, still faster than Garrett even with a hurt paw. He just hopes they can get out of the mountains in one piece.

 

Mary May briefed Garrett on what they needed. She didn’t have any leads as to _where_ he’d find a fuel tanker, but they should be easy enough to find. In theory. Boomer was not happy to be left behind, but there was another dog he could chill out with, at least. Not that his boy seemed to care about it much.

Garrett scouts any areas the cult might have hidden a fuel tanker or two. It’s odd being back in the rolling fields, avoiding livestock and tractors alike. It’s nice not running into Angels or Judges at every turn, though. He’s lonely without Boomer. It reminds him of his first few days in the country. He takes to humming, just to fill in the silence he’s not used to dealing with.

He’s been walking for about an hour or two with no luck. Maybe if he stole a cult truck? Then he could cover more ground, at least. Garrett hoists himself over a fence and his radio starts giving him feedback. Confused, he pulls it out and examines it. Probably hit a few buttons. Then, with a weak crackle, a _very_ familiar voice speaks.

“Deputy!” John exclaims. “Nice to see you’re back in my neck of the woods.”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be _kidding_ me.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fought with this chapter tooth and nail for like, four days and it's still not great so for that I apologize. It is very dialogue-heavy.
> 
> Once again, thank you for all the wonderful comments! I love reading them. Maybe one day I'll grow a pair and reply to them directly.

The silence used to get to Garrett. It made him paranoid and lonely. He hated it. He’d do anything to get rid of it, whether by humming or any other nonsensical noise. Now, driving a fuel tanker miles away from Fall’s End and without his dog, Garrett _prays_ for silence.

John tuned into his frequency almost two hours ago and _has not shut up since_. Garrett hasn’t said a single word back, and yet the insufferable Seed still manages to think of something to say. They’re mostly light-hearted threats, some rambling here and there, and sometimes he’ll whisper, “I know you’re there, deputy.” It would be creepy and terrifying if it wasn’t so goddamn annoying.

It took Garrett an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize he could turn the radio down. He made the connection right as he pulled into Fall’s End. Even though he had to deal with it for hours, now his fellow rebels don’t have to, at least. Maybe Garrett’s sacrifice is his sanity.

The tanker rumbles and sputters to a stop on the dirt driveway. Garrett hops out and slams the creaking door shut, strolling to the waiting Mary May.

“She’s a little worse for wear, but all the fuel’s there,” he announces. “It’s surprisingly hard to find these things.”

The blonde chuckles and pats the deputy on the shoulder. “I knew I could count on you. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“I don’t know. You’d probably be better off. We kicked off this little holy war, remember?” He snickers when she elbows him in the ribs playfully.

“We’ve been trying to shake these guys for God knows how long. If anything, you’ve given us a new incentive to keep the fight going.” Mary May pauses, seeming to gather her thoughts. She turns toward the deputy, gently resting her cool palm on his expose forearm. “I don’t think anyone tells you this enough. Thank you. For everything.

“I know it’s been really demanding, and you probably just want to get all your friends so you can fuck off. It just means a lot to me- to everyone- that you’re helping us take our lives back.”

Garrett nods slowly, absorbing every word. There’s a familiar sting poking at his eyes. “Dammit, woman, you’re gonna make me cry. Stop that.”

“Oh, so the whole ‘cool guy’ thing is just a façade, huh?” she teases lightly.

Garrett likes people like Mary May; nearly instant friends. He likes the ribbing and light-hearted mocking. It makes him feel normal, gives him a sense of familiarity in this hellhole.

After a few more innocent jabs, Garrett agrees to come inside the bar for a much-needed drink and a burger. Boomer hangs around the bar (they’d tried keeping him outside, to no avail) and sticks to his owner like glue. Garrett feeds him a few fries and the last bit of his burger, all of which the heeler wolfs down like he’s never eaten before.

He hangs around for a while longer, talking to patrons and friends alike. As much as he hated the idea of coming back to Holland Valley, he sure missed the people here. Even John. He absolutely _loathes_ that he missed that arrogant prick, blames it on the instinctive urge to be with his soulmate. He’ll never admit it, but he won’t deny it either. He’s done denying.

It’s about 7pm when he decides to head out. Mary May insists that he stick around, but Garrett makes up an excuse that even _he_ doesn’t believe. She doesn’t push the issue. For that, he’s grateful. He bids everyone farewell, calls Boomer to his side, and goes on his way.

 

A recently lit fire crackles softly. The charred wood is delicate and threatens to fall apart if the wind blows a little too hard. Garrett pokes at the weak flames with a stick, moving around the stronger logs. Boomer naps quietly beside him, pressed against the deputy’s thigh. It’s been a quiet night. No cultists, no predators. Hell, he hasn’t even seen any deer. He’s thankful for the silence.

Of course, all good things must come to an end. Garrett’s radio crackles to life at his side, humming with dead noise for a few seconds before the most annoying Seed brother starts one of his usual tirades. Garrett considers shutting him off again. It’s _so_ damn tempting. Hell, he could even toss his radio in the fire. He doesn’t, though. He doesn’t even ignore him. For some stupid-ass reason, his fingers twitch around the little device and he actually talks to John.

“Hey, shithead, can you stop talking for an hour? Two, maybe?” It might be a stupid move. It is a stupid move.

“Deputy! You have a voice!” John exclaims in faux-joy.

“Jesus, if you’re gonna say it, say it right.”

John fumbles with his words before muttering out, “Excuse me?”

“ _Dep-yoo-tee._ It’s _deputy_. Quit enunciating unnecessarily.” He doesn’t give the man any time to respond, barreling right into another topic. “So what’s hangin’? Don’t have anything else to do except bug the shit out of me?”

“Turn yourself in and I won’t ‘bug’ you. You still haven’t confessed any of your sins, _deputy_.” Garrett snorts a little at the inflection of the other man’s voice.

“I’m the cop. Isn’t that my line?”

“Maybe so. _I_ don’t have anyone to answer to, unlike a certain someone.”

Garrett shakes his head. This is so stupid, playing cat and mouse with a psychopath. Yet for reasons unknown (well, they’re known, he just doesn’t want to address the issue), every word out of John’s mouth sends a little thrill up his spine. He hates what his stupid brain is doing and how his stupid body is reacting. Nevertheless, he’s not sure if he wants to fight it. He’s not sure if he even _can_.

“The little threats are nice, but they’re not effective. Now _Faith_ knows how to manipulate a guy. She almost had me. I think it’s ‘cause she’s so nice.” He pauses, wondering why he’s revealing so much to his enemy. “Have you ever tried being nice? You might get more little cultists following you guys around.”

John scoffs on the other end. “’Being nice’ isn’t an option here, deputy.”

“I don’t see why not. Your brother seems to think so. In his own insane, twisted way.” Why is he relating to these assholes? John realizes this, as well, and immediately jumps on his moment of weakness.

“If you think you understand Joseph so much, why are you still fighting us? He’s right, you know. You’re proof of that.”

“How, exactly, am I proof of that?”

John is silent for a moment, clearly trying to choose his next words wisely. He’s well-spoken. Garrett will give him that.

“God didn’t let you take him,” he proclaims, finally, and it’s such a soft declaration that it takes Garrett by surprise. He seems unsure, somehow.

“Well, technically your _cult_ didn’t let us take him. I don’t think that was God’s doing.”

“Everything Joseph has seen has come true. Everything he’s said you would do, you’ve _done_. Is it really that difficult to believe that he might be right?” John almost sounds pleading, but that can’t be right. Likely a manipulation tactic.

“What if he’s not? If he’s wrong, then all this pain and suffering you’ve caused is for _nothing_.”

“And if he’s right, you’re undoing all the hard work we’ve done to save these people from the Collapse.”

Neither of them says a word. Despite the long distance, the tension is palpable. Garrett swears he can feel it, maybe even cut it with the knife hidden in his pocket. John’s just opened a can of worms Garrett has never wanted to even consider. He’s never been a believer, let alone in a self-proclaimed prophet, but damn if it doesn’t make him think. It must be Hope County getting to him, or he’s literally going crazy.

Garrett makes the first move toward conversation. “Don’t you have something better to be doing? I know I do.”

“I can sit here all night, deputy.”

“Then I guess I’ll just shut you off. Let you talk to yourself.”

“Is that wise?” John threatens, but there isn’t any heat behind his words. It sounds almost playful, in some stupid way. “You shouldn’t talk like that to the man who can hunt you down at a moment’s notice.”

“Do it,” Garrett demands. “I dare you.”

“I will. Don’t doubt for a second, deputy.”

“Do it then. Bitch.”

Any other time, Garrett wouldn’t dare tease such a powerful man. He could hear the humor in his voice, though, and for a moment he swore he found John Seed’s human side. He’s almost certain John won’t send a capture party after him, but he still stays on his guard. John _does_ stop talking to him, though. Small miracles.

Garrett pokes at his fire for another hour or so, then snuffs it out when he feels himself dozing. He heads back to the truck, Boomer in tow, and makes a makeshift bed in the backseat with his backpack as a pillow. His dog doesn’t fit on the seat, but he _does_ fit on Garrett’s stomach, so he decides to curl up there. The deputy slowly dozes off, fingers buried in the soft fur on Boomer’s shoulder blades.

 

The radio suddenly hisses loudly, announcing an incoming frequency. Garrett is a light enough sleeper that it wakes him up. He’s confused for a few seconds, then angry. He picks the radio up with a fury he’d never experienced at such a late hour.

“John, I swear to Christ- “

It’s not John. Instead, Nick answers. “John? Dep, wha- fuck it, I’m not even gonna ask. I heard you were back in Holland Valley. Are you still here?”

“Shit. Yeah, I’m,” Garrett clears his throat, “I’m still here. Not too far from your neck of the woods.”

“That’s great to hear! Kim’s water just broke, and I don’t know if we can make it to the midwife with me driving and both of us freaking the fuck out.” Garrett can hear Kim in the background, considerably calmer than her counterpart, but definitely _not_ happy.

“Shit. Um, yeah, alright. I can be there in like, ten minutes. Hang tight.”

Kim’s voice suddenly comes on. “Hurry, deputy, god _dammit_ ,” she growls into the receiver.

“I can be there in five!” Garrett amends. That seems to satisfy her.

This is just another surprise piled on top of his already too-eventful day. Well, he’d been meaning to stop by, anyway. Garrett hurries to get in the driver’s seat and moves Boomer to passenger to make room for Nick and Kim. As soon as they’re settled, the deputy breaks possibly every traffic law ever made to get to his friends in time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very late and disappointing and for that I'm very sorry. I've got some stuff goin' on and it's really taken the wind out of my sails. This was going to be the beginning of a longer chapter, but there was no way it was gonna get out if I finished it so!!   
> I'll update again super soon and it should be way more interesting!
> 
> As always, I love all of your comments and kudos! They always make my day.

The night sky is clear, the stars are twinkling cheerily, and the wildlife is blessedly silent save for a single hooting owl. It’s a quiet night, calm and peaceful in a way that only the beauty of nature can be.

Garrett and his little entourage don’t get the memo. His truck disrupts the peace with a roaring engine and squealing tires. Inside the vehicle, Kim is screaming in agony, Nick is shouting directions, and Garrett is yelling general panicked obscenities. Boomer is the only calm one, enjoying the ride with his head out the window.

“Take a right!” Nick announces loudly. The truck jerks right, throwing up rocks and dust with the harsh movement. Garrett cringes at the noise Kim makes after such a sharp turn.

“Everyone alright back there?” The deputy braves a glance at the backseat. Kim is doubled over, clutching her husband’s hand in a death grip. Garrett can already see the beginnings of a nasty bruise.

“The road! Look at the road!” Kim urges. Her fingers bite into Nick’s poor, abused hand while her free hand points and gesticulates wildly.

Garrett follows her order hastily, whipping his head back around to watch where he’s going. He’s still on the road, at least, along with an overwhelming amount of loose _pigs_. Where the hell did they even come from?!

Dodging them is a chore, and Garrett’s certain he hit one, but soon they’ve scurried off in all different directions. The truck and its inhabitants are unscathed, so he decides it’s a win. God, what he wouldn’t do to be in a firefight instead of here. It would be a hell of a lot less stressful.

The truck hits a bump in the road, one he didn’t expect, and they’re all jostled slightly. Kim yells at him to be careful, then seconds later shouts at him to hurry. He’s feeling very conflicted.

“Deputy, up here- there’s a shortcut! Just take a left!” Nick directs.

“Alright, sh-“

“No, don’t take the shortcut! We’re almost there. Just keep following the road!” Kim interjects.

“It’s a shortcut!” Nick refutes. “We’ll get there faster!”

Garrett decides for them, following Nick’s directions. He turns left. It’s not a road, necessarily, more like a hiking trail. The trees are _way_ too close for comfort, and two deer bolt in front of the truck to get out of the way. Kim is still shouting in pain in the backseat, now added by insults that Garrett assumes (hopes) she doesn’t mean.

“See? There’s the clinic, right there. Pull up front, Dep.”

He’s never been happier to put a vehicle in park. The dusty little parking lot only has one car, likely the doctor’s, and the flickering lights out front are a symbol of relief to the deputy. The beat-up pickup rumbles in idle as the two men help Kim out. Boomer waits patiently in the passenger seat, still blissfully unaware of the duress they’ve all just endured.

 

Once Kim is safely inside, Garrett returns to the truck. He considers getting back in to wait, but his limbs are alight with active nerves and adrenaline. At the dog’s insistence, he opens the door, releasing the beast. Boomer sniffs around a little bit, pees on a worn-down parking block, then returns to his master’s side.

 Garrett feels like he can finally breathe again. Boomer gazes at him placidly, panting ever so softly in an easygoing doggy smile. The deputy matches the mutt’s honey gaze, then leans down to stroke his shaking hands over Boomer’s dusty fur. He’ll have to give him a bath soon or take him out swimming. Once his paw heals, anyway.

“I wish I still smoked, dude. I feel like I need a hundred cigarettes.”

Idle standing turns into fidgeting, which turns into humming, then pacing. Birth is not an easy affair, by any means, and he realizes it takes time, but damn if it doesn’t make him worry. Was his driving too reckless? Did he do more harm than good? Should he have taken the long way, if only to make it safer for Kim and the baby?

Garrett doesn’t know how many scenarios and “what-ifs” play through his mind in his anxious waiting. A lot happens in two hours. All his worries are washed away, however, when a pair of tired Ryes exit the building with an impossibly tiny, pink little bundle. Garrett’s heart clenches in his chest at the sight.

Nick wheels Kim around slowly. Pride, exhaustion, and elation all clash together in his eyes, painting a picture of new fatherhood. Kim looks far more exhausted than her counterpart, understandably so. Her face seems slightly gaunt, but she is undeniably happy. Garrett is happy _for_ them, his own tired smile making a grand appearance.

“Hey, Garrett. Wanna meet your goddaughter?” Nick asks quietly. It’s the quietest he’s ever heard him; it’s distracting enough for him to hear the pilot incorrectly.

Garrett snorts in amusement. “My what? It sounded like you just called her ‘my goddaughter.’”

“Well that’s a good thing, ‘cause I did,” Nick explains. He rests his (very bruised) hand on Kim’s shoulder. She reaches up to hold him, but at the slightest contact he jerks his hand away with a hiss.

All of Garrett’s emotions war together. He has _so_ many things to say to this perfect, amazing little family, but nothing comes out other than a little choked noise and some tears that he’ll probably deny later. Neither of them mentions his little emotional outburst as he approaches to greet the infant.

It’s a little moment of loveliness that he hasn’t experienced in years, and he’s glad to have done it with the Ryes. He never expected to find so much in Hope County, least of all during a hostile cult’s takeover, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Why don’t I get you guys home? You all need some sleep while you can get it,” Garrett jokes.

Together, he and the deputy help Kim and the baby in the backseat, followed by Nick. Boomer returns to his spot in the passenger seat after some slight urging from Garrett. Once everyone is settled, he begins the drive back to the Rye residence. It’s a peaceful drive this time, matching the serenity of nighttime. There’s a warm feeling in Garrett’s chest, and for the first time in a _long_ while, he’s truly happy. Family will do that, he supposes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it in an earlier chapter, you can find me on Tumblr as caynsiepupper (I swear I'll figure out links eventually).  
> If you ever wanna yell at me over there, you're more than welcome to!
> 
> This fic will be on a short hiatus while I figure out which direction it's going. I'll probably get an update out next week, then they should be regular again so long as I finish my outline.

Day six of being a godparent: amazing. Garrett still can’t believe it. For the first couple of days, the deputy felt like he was intruding on the Ryes, so he and Boomer roamed around Holland Valley doing odd jobs and talking to even more odd people. He honestly hopes to never see Larry again; he’s a nutcase.

Garrett would have stayed away for much longer, content to give the new parents some space and time to bond with their newborn daughter, but Kim angrily called his radio and _demanded_ he “scoot his sorry ass back home” to spend some time with them. The feeling of imposing quickly vanished the moment he returned to their humble abode and held the baby for the first time.

He’s been crashing on their couch for the past few nights. Nick swears he’ll make up the guest room eventually, but Garrett is content to sleep on any furniture available. It beats the backseat of his pickup any day of the week.

 

On this delightful sixth day of godparenting, Garrett spends his time cleaning the house while Kim takes on the baby. Nick’s been absent all morning, probably working on Carmina. The deputy swears that plane is more loved than he ever will be.

He’s in the midst of dumping some dirty clothes into the washer when his radio comes on. He doesn’t even need to listen. He’s well aware of who it is. Garrett sighs heavily and mutes the insufferable man. John can wait; he’s doing laundry, dammit.

He finishes his task, tells Kim he’ll be right back to finish up a couple more chores, and heads out into the front yard. The windows are open, so he ventures a little further. She doesn’t need to hear them talking.

Once he figures he’s far enough away from prying eyes and ears, it’s time to turn the sound on and suffer through whatever John has to say. More taunting, probably. They’ve spoken with each other nearly every day- for the most part, it’s nothing new. Garrett can feel the attitude shifting from antagonistic to something friendlier. Well, maybe not friendlier. More familiar, perhaps.

John is mid-sentence when he turns the sound up.

“Couldn’t you tell I wasn’t listening?” Garrett interrupts. John promptly shuts up. The little indignant huff on the other end is faint, but he can hear it. “Do you just like to hear yourself talk _that_ much?”

“I assumed you were just ignoring me again,” John admits, flustered. Even embarrassed, he still manages to sound smug. Garrett doesn’t know how he does it.

“What do you want? I’m kinda busy.”

“I can’t just chat with my favorite deputy?” he asks, voice painted and positively _dripping_ with sarcasm.

“Of course not. When have you ever wanted to ‘just chat’?”

“ _You_ were the one who told me to be nicer.”

“Yeah, and you said that wasn’t an option. If you’re just going to spew your regular crap about sins, I don’t have time for it.” Garrett reaches for his pocket, growing frustrated when he remembers he quit smoking. Looking back, it was one of his dumbest decisions. Right up there with transferring all the way to Montana.

John is silent for several blissful moments. Garrett almost thinks he shut his radio off, but of course he can’t just shut up for more than five minutes. Although, when he inevitably opens his mouth again, it’s not what the deputy expected.

“We haven’t said anything about this little issue between us,” John says, rather suddenly.

Well.

“I- wh- why would…?” Garrett scrubs his free hand down the side of his face. “I don’t think I _want_ to talk about that right now.” _Or ever._

John makes a little noise that comes over as static. The air is so, _so_ tense and Garrett isn’t sure whether he’s glad or disappointed that John isn’t here physically. He opens his mouth to speak, but a raspy little croak comes out in the place of actual words. Oh, he’s going to regret what he’s about to say.

“Look, if you actually want to discuss this shit, hit me up later. If it’s just another one of your little manipulative tactics, don’t bother.”

Garrett doesn’t leave any room open for discussion. He turns his radio off as soon as he’s done talking. He doesn’t want to hear what John has to say. He _never_ wants to hear anything come out of that man’s mouth again.

With the baby here, it’s going to be difficult, but Garrett can’t stay in Holland Valley much longer. Everything is driving him _nuts_ : the conflicting feelings, John’s shit-fucked personality, the universe screwing with him. He feels terrible leaving Joey behind _again_ , but he can at least try to cover the guilt by reminding himself that Staci is still in danger.

The radio call leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but he tries to save face for Kim’s sake. No need worrying her with his issues. Garrett slowly makes his way back to the house. The screen door creaks as he opens it, then slams shut. It makes him jump.

“You need to get Nick to fix that,” he says light-heartedly, strolling into the living room. Kim is on the couch, feeding her daughter.

“Go ahead and tell him. I’ve been asking for weeks. It’s the same every time. ‘Oh, yeah, I’ll fix it, babe. I just gotta work on Carmina some,’” she mocks, chuckling.

“Men, am I right?” Garrett jokes.

He flops onto the rickety little recliner and leans back into the worn cushions. Boomer trots out of the kitchen when he hears his master’s voice. The heeler hastily crawls into the deputy’s lap, settling comfortably in the crook of Garrett’s arm like a baby. He scratches the dog’s belly and plants a kiss on his cold, wet nose.

Kim laughs from the couch. The movement jostles the infant.

“Aw, Boomer, did you miss your daddy?” she croons. “He was gone _forever_!”

Garrett rolls his eyes, then bounces the mutt gently. “Of course he missed me. Just like I miss him every time he’s out of my sight.”

“You love that dog too much,” she muses. Garrett gasps, mocking offense.

“I love my dog a perfectly normal amount, thank you kindly.”

Kim hums in disbelief. They sit in a comfortable silence after that, doting on their respective babies. Boomer’s paw is healing nicely. It didn’t need stitches, like Garrett originally thought, but he’s been making the dog take it easy. He did re-open the wound chasing a rabbit, but after a swift scolding and a quick patch job, Boomer was back on the mend.

Garrett isn’t sure how long they sit there, but at some point, he manages to doze off. When he wakes up again, Kim is absent and replaced by Nick. The deputy grunts groggily and lets Boomer down.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty,” Nick teases.

“Mm. Shut up,” Garrett groans out. “Sorry for sleepin’ in your chair. How long was I out?”

Kim reappears then, as if by magic, and with a freshly diapered child. “About twenty minutes,” she replies, passing the baby off to her husband. “How was your nap?”

“Too short,” he complains. Nicks snorts out a bit of laughter and cradles his child. The pilot is oily and sweaty and his daughter is just _loving_ it, grabbing at the man’s blackened fingers curiously.

“Oh, I saw you talkin’ on your radio earlier. You looked pissed. Need me to kick an ass or two?” Nick suggests.

“No, no, not necessary. Just the usual bullshit.”

Nick nods in understanding. “Resistance or Seed bullshit?”

“Seed.”

Kim makes a noise of disgust as she settles down on the cushion next to Nick. She props her feet up in his lap and leans back on the arm of the couch. “Sorry you gotta deal with that.”

Garrett shrugs. “It is what it is.” He cringes, realizing what he said. He remembers how much his mother hated that phrase, how much hatred _he_ has for the phrase just because she did. The Ryes don’t seem bothered by it, anyway.

They change the subject, chatting about lighter topics. It’s such a familiar routine, Garrett hates leaving it behind. The irrational part of him wants to stay here forever, but it’s beyond the realm of possibility. Maybe once things resolve he’ll think about finding a fixer-upper around here. It’d be a step up from the cheap motel he’d been living in prior to this mess.

The night passes uneventfully. Garrett mentions his plan of leaving again over dinner, and as always, they’re supportive. The next day, he packs up and heads out to the mountains with Boomer in the passenger seat. It’s a bitter goodbye, but he probably won’t be gone long. Hell, he doubts he’ll even be in Jacob’s region for more than a week or two. He has a way of returning to Holland Valley a little too soon.

 

Liberating the F.A.N.G center goes off without a hitch. Say what you will about tourist attractions, but the giant, goofy bear is a great spot to do some sniping. Garrett _does_ feel bad about the way he left things with Hurk, but there’s something satisfying about doing a job without being spotted. Makes him feel like a ghost.

“F.A.N.G’s all cleared up,” he announces over the radio. He rappels down the massive cheeseburger and narrowly avoids landing on Boomer.

When Garrett’s boots hit the grass, a Resistance member answers. “Thanks a lot, deputy. We’ll have some of our people over in no time at all. Hold down the fort, will ya?”

“Can do, ma’am.” He clips the little device on his belt where it belongs and takes his time patrolling around the perimeter, Boomer in tow. Every time he comes across the limp corpse of a cultist, he pokes it with the muzzle of his rifle. They aren’t Angels, but Garrett is wary of dead bodies ever since he witnessed one of those fuckers rise back up.

The damn broadcast Jacob’s goons set up is still droning on. The massive bear almost drowns out the noise, but that’s almost more annoying than anything the cult could possibly put on.

After a few minutes of making sure he actually freed the place of Peggies, Garrett ventures inside. There’s a smaller radio in here, blasting the anthem of Eden’s Gate on a smaller scale. It’s another one of those choir renditions of their little hymns, and it still slaps. The petty part of him wishes their singers were shit. Then he could hate these songs.

He plays with Boomer a little bit, kinda-sorta listening to the radio, as he waits for the Resistance to take over. Boomer is busy gnawing on his gloved hand when the music suddenly cuts, replaced by a soft voice. The deputy hushes the heeler as he leans in, listening closely. The man sounds terrified, _definitely_ being forced to read something, but Garrett would recognize his voice anywhere.

Staci Pratt.

The sound of his fellow deputy’s voice makes him sick. Garrett is elated that he’s alive, of course, but he sounds so _different_. Confident, snarky, downright _cocky_ Pratt reduced to this. Thinking about it reminds him of Hudson, makes him wonder how she’s faring through all of this. The thought only serves to make his stomach churn even worse.

“Boom, if dad throws up, don’t laugh,” he chokes out.

Boomer stares at him inquisitively, confused by his owner’s sudden distress. The dog jumps back when Garrett tosses the small radio against the wall. It doesn’t break (to the deputy’s disappointment; he was thinking it would be more dramatic) but the sound becomes garbled to the point that it sounds like Satan himself has possessed the little device.

Garrett hits the radio with his bat instead, which still doesn’t break the damn thing. Either he’s weaker than he thought, or they make the damn things out of titanium. He hits it again and the sound shuts off, but the radio still looks mostly useable barring the dent in the front. He still feels queasy (not to mention pissed off) but he takes the opportunity to calm himself down with humor.

“Wonder if I could do that to Jacob’s head,” he muses. “What d’you think, huh Boom? Think dad could put a dent in his forehead after I hit him a few times?”

The dog does not answer.

About fifteen minutes after the radio debacle, the first Resistance trucks pull up. Garrett is glad. Now he can work on getting to Pratt before Jacob can fuck the poor man up anymore, unless he’s already beyond repair. _No. Don’t think like that. Pratt will be fine._

He greets the Resistance calmly and gives them a rundown of the area. Just as he’s about to leave, someone flags him down and asks him to find a diabetic grizzly. It’s one of the stranger things he’s been asked, but Garrett is nothing if not a people pleaser. He agrees happily, and as soon as everything is cleared up, he and Boomer are off to start their new adventure.

 

Catching the fish wasn’t so hard (the river is teeming with them) but finding the bear is a little harder, especially since Garrett would prefer to not be mauled. There are a few Peggies he had to take out, but it wasn’t a particularly grueling task. Boomer got one, providing a distraction, and the deputy was able to take one down silently and get a clean headshot on the other.

The mangled corpses of cultists litter the ground, some savagely ripped apart and others intact but bled out. It’s hard to believe this bear will be friendly, but if Garrett dies, at least he doesn’t have to deal with John anymore.

Boomer sticks to his owner’s leg like glue, obviously on edge. Garrett scratches the top of his head reassuringly, then pulls the deceased salmon from his bag. His things are going to smell like fish, but that just gives him an excuse to find a home with working plumbing. Maybe he can take a hot shower while his fishy clothes are being washed.

The shiny scales glint in the sunlight, creating a slightly reflective surface. Garrett is still amazed by the beauty of simple things. He especially loves the trees and flowers, but fish are special to him, as well.

He’s not sure to go about finding Cheeseburger. Should he call him like a dog? Whistle, maybe call out his name? He tries that first, but after standing there like an idiot with a dead fish in his hands with no grizzly approaching, he switches up his technique.

“Boomer, stay,” he commands sternly. The heeler whines softly but obeys, going the extra mile and lying down. “Good boy.”

Garrett takes a deep breath and sets out to find the bear. It’s not in the open, so for all he knows, Cheeseburger could be long gone. As he rounds the corner of a trailer, though, he realizes that is _not_ the case. Lying quite placidly on a tarp, huffing and snuffling at its gigantic paws, is a collared grizzly bear. Garrett murmurs a quick prayer to any god that will listen and approaches the animal slowly. As he gets closer, the bear lifts his massive head to look at the deputy.

Slowly, almost lazily, he rears up on his hind legs and lets out a low roar. Garrett tries very hard not to shit his pants and tosses the fish over to the bear. Cheeseburger settles back on all fours to sniff the salmon, then happily starts to chow down. Garrett side-steps a little closer and reaches his shaking hand out. He hesitates, then sucks it up and buries his fingers in the bear’s coarse fur.

Cheeseburger lets out a low grumble and continues to eat his fish, allowing Garrett to pet his broad skull and behind his ears. He finishes his snack with a sickening crunch of bone, then lifts his head to sniff Garrett’s palm. For a terrifying second, he thinks Cheeseburger will bite his hand off, but to his surprise, the grizzly simply licks his fingers. The deputy releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, then pats the bear once more on his head.

“Come on, Cheeseburger. Let’s get you home.” The grizzly follows without hesitation, butting his enormous muzzle into Garrett’s hand once or twice for pets. When they round the corner of the trailer again, a white Eden’s Gate truck comes speeding down the road.

Garrett whistles sharply for Boomer, who comes running immediately, and unholsters his .44. The first Peggies screech to a halt, tossing up plumes of dirt and dust. More are coming down the road at an alarming speed, whooping and yelling. Garrett makes the motion for Boomer to get down and begins to do the same for Cheeseburger, then he remembers that it’s a bear that hasn’t been trained for this. Shit.

The second they exit their vehicles, the grizzly is on them like flies on crap. This is like Hurk all over again, but no amount of scolding is going to show this bear the err of his ways. Instead of dwelling on a ruined stealth mission, Garrett leaps into action with Boomer in tow. They don’t do much compared to Cheeseburger, but it’s something. If this were third grade soccer, they’d get a participation trophy, at least.

The fight isn’t very long and Garrett comes out on top with his lovely animal companions. He doesn’t wait around to see if any other cultists decide to rock up, opting to head _straight_ back to the center. To his surprise, Cheeseburger follows just as well as Boomer. Hell, he might as well be a puppy. A 700-pound, blood-thirsty, diabetic puppy.

 

The walk isn’t too bad. Garrett and his little entourage ran across a few Peggies, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle. Cheeseburger is _very_ eager to go Peggie-hunting, however. If they’re going to be spending more time together, Garrett might have to figure out how to train the grizzly. While he’s at it, he might as well rope Peaches into it, too.

That’ll be his job when all of this blows over and Eden’s Gate is gone. Professional wild animal trainer. For cougars and grizzlies, at least.

The moment Garrett walks through the entrance with Boomer and Cheeseburger in tow, he’s met with warm greetings. Wade is ecstatic to see that the grizzly is (relatively) unscathed, then as an afterthought, he mentions that he’s glad Garrett is unharmed.

“Nah, I get it. You’re good,” the deputy responds, chuckling at the other man’s fumbling. “But, since I got the ‘Burg back in one piece, do you mind doing me a favor?”

Wade nods. “’Course, Dep.”

“Can you keep an eye on Boom? I’ve been wantin’ to do some hunting. You know, stock up on furs to sell and meat to give away.”

“Absolutely. Hell, you can bring some this way, if you want,” Wade suggests.

“Sure, man. What’s the best game around here?”

Wade gives him a rundown of the local wildlife, even finds him a guide of the area to look over. Garrett thanks him and instructs Boomer to stay, who reluctantly does so. The deputy declares he’ll be back soon, and with that, he’s off.

 

The bow feels light in his hands. A little too light, actually. It seemed like the safer option. If his rifle can blow the head off a human, he’s not sure what it would do to a caribou. They’re thicker, yes, but he’d hate to ruin any part of the skin or meat if he missed his mark.

Garrett feels bad leaving Boomer behind, but it’s for the best. He won’t be gone long. The dog might even have a good time at the center; there are new people to meet, interesting smells to discover, and an entire non-hostile _bear_ to play with. Any other dog would kill to be in Boomer’s position.

The terrain changes considerably the further he goes. It’s interesting seeing the different flora. Back home, he remembers driving for miles through the entire state just to be met by the same sights: cows, corn, soybeans, and sometimes horses if he was lucky. If Hope County is this diverse, he’s eager to see the rest of Montana.

On his belt, Garrett’s radio begins to make the all-too familiar buzzing, crackling sound of someone trying to connect to his frequency. It’s likely Wade, or if he’s extremely unlucky, John found a way to reach him all the way out here. God, he hopes not. What he _doesn’t_ expect, however, is to hear Jacob. In that moment, he swears his stomach turns into a twenty-pound rock. It certainly feels like it, anyway.

“There is someone out there, pretending to be a soldier. They are killing our brothers and sisters and putting this Project in jeopardy. I want this coward to know that they have my attention. My hunters are coming for you. There's nowhere you can run.”

Well, fuck. Maybe Garrett should have stayed in Holland Valley after all. He doesn’t dwell on it too long, decides to drop everything and run. Where is he running? He doesn’t know. Away. He could be running toward danger. He probably is, knowing his shit luck.

Garrett isn’t sure how far he’s run, or how long. He doesn’t even know if anyone is actually after him. All he knows is he’s out of breath, his calves burn, and he feels completely helpless.

The deputy doesn’t get to feel helpless for much longer. As soon as he’s stopped running, there’s a searing pain going through one of his already-aching calves. He lets out a cry of agony and falls to the ground. The pain doesn’t go away, necessarily, but it seems farther away. Like he’s feeling it from a room away. His vision is blurring, as well, and he just _knows_ it’s that stupid drug affecting him.

A dark shadow casts over him, shrouding him in darkness. Garrett follows the silhouette up, meeting the eyes of a masked archer. He squints helplessly, trying to focus his eyes, but ultimately his eyelids feel too heavy. He doesn’t fight it any longer. The deputy accepts what has happened and falls backward. The last thing he feels is his skull thudding against the dirt soundly.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahhaaaa hey remember when i said weekly updates?  
> i am very sorry and also irredeemable garbage :)  
> Anyway, I'm trying to get back into the swing of things so now- two months later- here's that really bad John-POV chapter I promised.
> 
> ALSO I would like to thank everyone for a very special milestone!! This fic was, at one point, 420 kudos and 69 bookmarks! It's gone over that, now, but I have a screenshot on my phone and to this day, I lose my shit.

It’s been a few days since the deputy has been ruining John’s shit. John isn’t _worried_ , he tells himself, but it’s strange not having to deal with the little nuisance. A part of him, very small and very stifled, misses the man. Annoying or not, fate has decided they deserve to be together, and some primal part of himself longs for the contact. He hates it.

Normally, after a day of baptisms and confessions, John would revel in the silence at home. Maybe open a book, possibly even enjoy the luxuries of his ranch. Tonight, however, while lounging on the couch, he feels compelled to reach for the radio sitting innocently on the end table. It has collected just the smallest layer of dust and dirt from the constant bustle during the day. He’s not sure why his fingers dial into the frequency of the deputy’s radio, but once they do, he can’t stop himself from saying _something_.

His mouth feels dry and the words don’t come to him immediately. John sits there for what feels like an eternity, gaping like a fish as he tries to come up with something to say. The last time he and the deputy talked, Garrett seemed open to discussing their predicament. It doesn’t help him conjure any words, but at least he knows where to start.

He sits there silently for another few minutes before he decides _fuck it_.

“Good evening, deputy,” he greets sweetly. “How are you? Destroying my monuments?”

There is no immediate answer. There usually isn’t. For some reason, though, John feels a small sense of dread. It settles in his stomach like a ball of lead, weighing him down and making his insides churn. Why does he feel this way? He hates it.

He waits with the radio in his hands for a while longer, but it becomes apparent that Garrett won’t be talking to him tonight. It’s not a problem; John needs to sleep, anyway. He sets the radio back in its designated spot and picks himself up off the couch with a quiet grunt. His knee pops in protest; he’s not getting any younger.

John ambles through the house, shutting lights off as he goes. Going upstairs is nearly a Herculean task. He can’t shake the feeling that something is _wrong_ , and it’s affecting him deeply. It’s such a stupid sensation. He knows the deputy is probably fine, just ignoring him like he so often does.

The door to his room creaks open (he’ll have to fix that) to reveal the dark, empty space. He walks across the cold hardwood to turn his lamp on, illuminating the room in a soft glow. The bed doesn’t look as inviting as it usually does. Truth be told, John doesn’t even feel tired. He blames it on that ridiculous, primal part of himself that worries endlessly about the well-being of his soulmate.

He doesn’t bother finishing his nightly routine in the bathroom. He fears he’ll never sleep if he does, so instead he resorts to stripping down to his boxer-briefs and sliding into bed. The sheets are cool against his heated skin.

John turns the lamp off with a gentle touch, then lies in the darkness. His eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, making out shapes and objects illuminated by the moon. His own thoughts, joined by the darkness and slight breeze coming through the window, eventually put him to sleep.

 

 

He doesn’t feel any better the next morning, but at least he’s rested. He does manage to complete his routine this time around, though.

Once clothed, John makes his way toward the kitchen. His eyes immediately travel to the radio sitting on the end table. He so badly wants to call the deputy again, just so he can hear the other man’s annoyed voice. Maybe it’s just because he’s worried, but John swears he _misses_ the deputy. That’s a whole can of worms he’s going to avoid opening. Soon they’ll be back to arguing and everything will be fine. He’ll get the deputy on their side (somehow) and everything is going to be _just fine._

Instead of giving in to his base desires, John sets about making his coffee and deciding whether or not he should eat this morning. He doesn’t really feel like cooking and a bagel probably won’t satisfy him, so he instead heads outside with his coffee, the radio on the end table (just in case the urge becomes too overwhelming), and a book he’s sure he’s read a thousand times.

The sun has just barely made its appearance over the horizon, peeking through the trees almost playfully. The smattering of colors in the sky never fails to take John’s breath away. The pastel blue and soft pinks mold together so beautifully. He supposes this is the best thing to come from the deputy.

John reads for about an hour, but he doesn’t really process any of the words. His once-steaming coffee sits abandoned and cold on the little wooden table next to his chair. The radio lies on its side right next to his coffee, glinting softly in the new sunlight. John’s fingers itch to grab it, and he suppresses the urge for as long as he can.

He sets the book down on the table, picking up the stupid radio. He moves on autopilot, allowing the crackling and beeping to subside. The damn thing is so old. He should probably get a new one.

“Good morning, deputy!” he says confidently. He’s answered only by white noise, but he pushes on. “I don’t appreciate you ignoring me. _You_ were the one who agreed to talk, after all.”

John sits there for an embarrassing amount of time, very obviously talking to no one. Is it possible he’s tuned into the wrong frequency? No, he speaks to the deputy often enough, he knows it’s correct. The original worry he had fades to indignant anger. Did the deputy string him along, just to throw his radio out? It’s not beyond the realm of possibility. This explanation doesn’t quell the anxiety hidden deep within his soul, however. It’s still only his second attempt, though; he’s just overreacting.

Yes, that must be the issue. That irrational part of him, the same part that makes his heart flutter when the deputy speaks to him, is just egging him on. Distantly, John wonders if Garrett ever gets the same feelings. The selfish part of him hopes he does. It wouldn’t be fair if John suffers over his soulmate while Garrett gets to think and act clearly.

The first sounds of activity reach John’s ears in the form of tires rolling up his driveway. It must be later than he expected, then. John forces himself to don an air of composure and makes his way to the front yard. The group of followers that have arrived hardly get a chance to step out of their trucks when John starts barking orders. The awful, creeping feeling might not go away, but at least he can drown it in his work.

 

John somehow managed to hold off on trying to radio the deputy until the next day. He figures the longer he waits, the more likely Garrett will answer. It’s possible that he’s devising a plan to fuck up some more of his shit. John wouldn’t put it past him.

It’s a fairly slow day. The sky is dark with an impending storm and some light thunder rolls across the clouds, seeming to shake the trees. He can practically smell the lightning on the air. It sends goosebumps along his arms and causes the hair on the back of his neck to stand up; he loves storms.

Another boom of thunder seems to shake the rain right out of the clouds, beginning a slow trickle. John stays outside for as long as he can, but the light sprinkle soon turns into a heavy pelting of icy cold rain. He watches the weather from the window, admiring the way the wind whips the foliage around. It’s a controlled sort of chaos, intriguing and beautiful as well as unpredictable and fear-inspiring.

It doesn’t take long for the wind to die down and the rain to slow down. Lightning still cracks the sky in bright flashes of light, accompanied by pounding thunder. It shakes the house’s very foundation.

As much as John wants to watch the storm until it fizzles out entirely, he’s an important man with important things to do. Although, as he passes by the radio sitting innocently on the counter, John decides that those “important things” aren’t quite as important as trying to, once again, get in contact with the deputy.

John goes through the motions, going the teasing route once again. He stands in his kitchen like an idiot for several minutes, waiting for an answer that won’t be coming. Despite the dread settled in his belly, he still manages to be angry. Why the _hell_ won’t he answer? What’s so damn important?

He turns to Eden’s Gate for answers. Surely _one_ of them has stumbled across the deputy. For a terrifying second, he wonders if Garrett is _dead_ , but then he remembers the color hasn’t faded from his vision. Not dead, then, just ignoring him. _Or something has gone wrong_ , his mind supplies. John doesn’t like entertaining that thought.

A party of scouts should arrive by 4; he can ask about the deputy’s whereabouts then. It’s only a two hour wait, but it feels like an eternity. John putters about doing small things here and there, making calls and writing a list of things he needs to do. As soon as the truck rattles noisily up the driveway, he drops everything and heads outside. He carefully schools his features into something neutral.

A thick blanket of fog has settled on the horizon and the air is humid, but it’s cool enough outside that it doesn’t bother John. He leans his hip against a pillar on his porch, waiting for his scouts to gather their information. There isn’t much to report; without Garrett making any headway, the rest of the pathetic little “resistance” has decided to fall back for the time being. After being given their new orders, the group of five begin to head back to their vehicle, but John stops them.

“Have any of you run across the deputy lately? Heard about his whereabouts?” he asks, trying not to sound too eager for information.

One of his scouts furrows his brow, obviously confused. “Deputy Young has been up north for nearly a week. Jacob has been conditioning him. You haven’t heard?”

It finally clicks. In seconds, all his irrational fears have been founded. His scouts stand a little awkwardly, wondering if they should leave while John tries to process the information he’s been given. Finally, he snaps out of it.

“Thank you. You can be on your way now.” He starts to turn around to go back inside when he’s spoken to again.

“This is a good thing, right? Now we don’t have to worry about him!”

John doesn’t agree. Not necessarily. He doesn’t say as much; he simply nods in affirmation. When the door shuts behind him, the old beat-up truck roars to life. He drowns out the noise, walking to his couch with numb legs.

It should be a good thing. It _is_ a good thing. He won’t be getting away from Jacob; his older brother is too careful for that. He won't be _killed_. Joseph doesn't want that. Why does he feel so empty, then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and I'm still very sorry for the long wait (and weak ending haha)! I want to say the next chapter will be out soon, and I'm going to be optimistic, but I'm not going to promise it will be out in the next week. Thanks for understanding <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow look at this quick update!  
> Boring chapter bc it's basically just that first cutscene with Jacob "Big Dick Energy" Seed but written out with some emotions, but the next chapter should be pretty exciting, so stay tuned!!   
> As always, I love your comments and kudos and they give me a reason to keep on writing <3

Everything hurts. God, his leg is killing him, aching with such ferocity he feels like _crying_. Garrett fades in and out of consciousness. He’s not even sure how long he’s been out, how long his moments of clarity (if they can really be called that; everything is so _hazy_ ) last. All he really knows, without a shadow of a doubt, is that he is in extreme pain, and he’s being carried. Who is he being carried by? He can’t even figure out what clothing they’re wearing. There have been a few times when Garrett has felt well and truly powerless, but right now- in this moment- _this_ takes the cake.

 

He’s not sure how much time has passed when he comes to. The pain is still there but muted somehow. Garrett’s eyes are taking a while to adjust. His head is flopping around uselessly. He’s bound- arms, legs, the works- to something sturdy. A chair? Probably. He wouldn’t be sitting, otherwise.

Garrett turns in a certain direction- _bright bright bright, oh God, the light_. Then, in the center of the horrible, blinding white, enveloped like an angel, is Pratt. Garrett can hardly make out his face with how blurry his vision is, but his fellow deputy gives him something to focus on.

Pratt looks different. His bruises and cuts are obvious, but there’s something else. He just looks… off. Like he’s terrified of the world. Surely this is an illusion, just a trick Garrett’s unfocused eyes are playing on him? Then when he hears Pratt’s voice, he knows it isn’t an illusion.

“You shouldn’t have come for me,” Pratt says in a hushed voice. “You shoulda run.”

Pratt suddenly glances up, fear flitting across his gaze before he scurries off, abandoning Garrett to subject him to the bright, awful light. His eyes only take a few seconds to adjust, this time. On the wall in front of him is the image of a deer. An elk, maybe? The specifics don’t matter. Its ribcage is exposed, the animal obviously deceased. The light from the image (projected, he assumes) illuminates the entire room, although Garrett doesn’t make out much other than a table. From behind, a voice.

“The world is weak. Soft. We have forgotten what it is to be strong.” Jacob Seed meanders into Garrett’s line of sight, strolling slowly and without a care in the world. The image of the deer changes to a close-up of a wolf, tearing apart a carcass. Maybe the deer? Maybe unrelated?

“You know, our heroes used to be gods. And now our heroes are godless. Weak, feeble, diseased. We let the weak dictate to the powerful and then we are shocked to find ourselves adrift.”

Jacob turns around to face the room. It is then that Garrett notices two other people in the room with him, also bound by their extremities. The projection switches to another wolf, white in color, gnawing on the leg of an animal. If he were in his right mind, Garrett may have poked fun at the wolf stock photos. He isn’t, though, and instead he’s enraptured by Jacob’s words. The wolves capture his gaze and arouse a strange feeling of uneasiness deep within his gut.

“But history knows the value of sacrifice. Of culling the herd, so that it stays strong. Over and over, the lives of the many have outweighed the lives of the few- this is how we _survived_. And we’ve forgotten. And now, the bill has come due.”

Jacob walks ever closer to Garrett, flicking through various images of wolves as he goes along. The deputy’s emotions are a jumbled mess, although fear is certainly a big one. He wants to flee, feels like he must, but he’s stuck here. Even if his arms and legs weren’t tied, he feels that he wouldn’t be able to run. His legs feel like solid lead weighing him down.

“Now, the collapse is upon us.” Jacob sets his hands on the arms of the chair Garrett is seated in. His cold fingers lightly brush against the deputy’s arms, chilling him to the bone. The eldest Seed leans in, filling Garrett’s vision with him and him alone. Cold, calculating eyes study Garrett’s face for a few very brief moments.

“And this time, he lives of the few outweigh the lives of the many. And when a nation that’s never known hunger or desperation descends into madness,” Jacob pauses, just as the next photo loads, blanketing the room in darkness, “we’ll be ready.”

Jacob straightens himself out, only breaking eye contact to pick up a small box on the nearby table. Garrett’s eyes gravitate to the little thing, watching as Jacob twists a handle. A music box?

“We will cull the herd. We will do what needs to be done.”

The turning of the handle stops. Silence fills each corner of the room, interrupted only by the _tick_ of the projector as the photos switch. Garrett has never experienced such silence, seeming almost thick in its intensity. Jacob turns the music box toward the deputy, flipping the top open.

There’s a pounding in Garrett’s head as the music begins. His vision goes hazy, his hearing seems to distort. He feels his entire body go numb, all thoughts and emotion fleeing from his head. Red creeps in around the edges of his sight, encroaching slowly until it seems to frame the delicate little box, held so gently in Jacob’s scarred hands.

_Only you…_

Garrett has been unconscious enough in his lifetime for at least three people, and the amount of times he’s woken up to some _weird ass shit_ is getting to be goddamn ridiculous.

The once-black room has brightened up a bit, clouded in a heavy fog. He feels conscious, and at the same time he feels detached. He’s not sure if what he’s seeing is even real. His pain is gone, strangely enough, and he feels more alive than ever. He recognizes the feeling as an adrenaline rush. Had enough of those for a few people, too.

Placed dead center on the sturdy wooden table is a gun. It’s painted strangely, unlike any weapon Garrett has seen. The same people from earlier are still seated quite placidly, unbound. The projector ticks and rolls the film, still playing an assortment of disturbing images of wildlife.

The deputy reaches for the gun, his fingers skimming across the metal. It almost feels warm, like it’s been used recently. Strange, but it may very well be his imagination. He takes the gun in a firm grasp and it just feels _right_. The moment he does, the other two people rise simultaneously, almost mechanically. It sets him on edge.

“Hey, guys,” Garrett begins, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, they both whip around, carrying similar weapons. _When did they get those?!_

In any normal situation, he would try to reason with them. They’re his own people, right? They don’t _look_ like Peggies, they aren’t spewing the same drivel as the Peggies. Regardless, this is not a normal situation, not in any way, shape, or form. He has the sneaking suspicion they’ll kill him before he gets another word out.

He fumbles with the trigger but manages to aim and fire before he’s injured. They disappear in a cloud, leaving Garrett dumbfounded. “ _What the fuck._ ”

Jacob praises him. His voice is distant, echoey, like it’s not so much the man speaking as it is a ghost of the man. Garrett wonders if it’s the effect of Bliss, although he doesn’t remember getting another dose of the stuff. Residual effects from the arrow, perhaps? It’s a very specific hallucination to be any leftovers. It doesn’t feel like he’s tripping balls, either, rather he’s truly experiencing this.

He doesn’t want to analyze every detail. He just wants to escape this hellscape. Garrett presses forward, carefully side-stepping through a narrow hallway. He checks his right- no one hiding, dead end- and heads left. The same song from earlier plays quietly, fueling the adrenaline coursing through Garrett’s veins. He’s not sure why it’s affecting him so badly.

Another gun is displayed very neatly against the wall; it even has a weak spotlight shining on it. Is he meant to be taking these weapons? What is this place?

Venturing further, the deputy notices a few silhouettes at varying distances. More people? No, not people. People don’t turn into _gas_ when you shoot them. He shouldn’t feel remorse when he kills them, right? They aren’t real. None of this is real.

He aims, fires. The closest target explodes into a cloud of fog, much like the first two he killed. The noise from the gun draws the attention of another. Garrett isn’t quick enough to hide; a bullet grazes the meat of his upper arm. It stings, burns, aches- just like a real wound. This place gets stranger with each passing second.

Climbing and jumping, Garrett weaves through this odd building, all the while that same song plays and Jacob praises his actions. _Excellent. Cull the herd._ The nooks and crannies in this place are seemingly endless, allowing foes to hide and attack where he least expects it. The walls are painted with different phrases. _Train, hunt, kill. Sacrifice._

He comes upon a courtyard, filled with his enemies. Garrett’s ears are ringing, his fingers itch, and his legs ache from the strain he’s forced upon them. Every last one of them disappears into thin air, leaving behind only a cloud and the smell of sulfur. It’s still odd, but he’s used to it by now. The consistency of the disappearing people only cements the theory that this is entirely in his imagination.

Garrett hoists himself over a concrete barricade he’d used as cover, trying to figure out his next plan of action. The only way through is forward, and the only way forward is through another section of the dilapidated building. There’s an intense heat coming from the doorway, reminding the deputy of hellfire. Maybe that’s where he is. Everything happening certainly fits the bill.

It’s no wonder this place reminds Garrett of hell; it’s literally on fire. There are a few more of those not-quite-people hanging around, seeming to be waiting. Probably for the deputy.

He takes them out quickly, not without gaining another new injury for his efforts, and looks for an exit. Below the destroyed staircase is a small platform with a hallway leading… downward? This place makes no damn sense, but Garrett figures it’s the only way to get to an exit.

He shimmies down the smooth, cracked concrete to the praises of Jacob Seed. The song seems to get louder, intensifying as he slides down further. The deputy shields his face as he goes directly through a thick cloud of smoke, and after, darkness.

_Can make this world seem right…_

 

 

Awareness comes back to Garrett in slow trickles. He starts to hear things first, although he can’t process any of the noise over the ringing in his ears. He does recognize that same, wretched song playing. Feeling comes second. His entire body _aches_ to the point that he swears he can feel pain in each individual bone. His vision swims and his eyes are entirely unfocused, but he can make out some people. He’s not sure how many there are; with his blurred vision, he sees at _least_ eight pairs of legs, but that doesn’t seem right. They’d be making much more noise.

The smell finally hits him, and he nearly vomits on the spot. He’s never had such an awful scent assault his nose. He’s smelled death before, even bodies in some stages of decomposition, but never anything to this degree, and certainly not with such _heat_ behind it. The endless slew of not-people he was forced to fight was nothing. Maybe _this_ is hell, and this time he’s certain he’s conscious. How fitting.

“…someone shut that music off!” The voice is unfamiliar. He’s speaking in harsh whispers. Is he not supposed to be here?

Garrett forces his eyes to focus, and while the headache is unpleasant, it’s worth it to finally see what’s going on around him. Lying on the ground, right in front of his _face_ , is a deceased man with blood coming from his eyes. Garrett almost wants to vomit again.

A young man, probably no older than twenty, kneels down and gently handles the dead man. “Christ, it’s Sully. When did they get him?”

He stands back up, diverting his attention to a heavily bearded man. For a terrifying second, Garrett thinks he’s one of those damn cult members, but he doesn’t have the gear or the crazed look about him. Probably just needs a shave, then.

“Why are we even bothering with this? They’re all de-“

“Check ‘em anyways!”

With a barely audible huff, the younger of the two acquiesces. “Why am I always stuck on corpse duty?” he grumbles. He approaches Garrett, nearly stepping on him, and the deputy wants to reprimand him for it. He just can’t get his voice to work.

Then, Garrett is being lifted none-too-carefully, being observed by a bored yet keen eye. He meets the gaze of the younger man, but once again, he can’t get his voice to work. Shock and fear flit across the young man’s face, and then Garrett is back on the hard ground. A low, pained groan escapes his throat as his skull connects with the floorboards. _Oh, God, he’s gonna die of brain trauma during his rescue._

The boy spits out expletives as the Peggie-esque man approaches. “Live one! Walker, go get the truck!” he orders. ‘Walker’ gives a stuttered agreement.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” the young man says quietly. Garrett wants to say, ‘it’s alright,’ but even if his voice did work with him, he probably wouldn’t say that. It fuckin’ _hurt_.

He’s being lifted again (and he silently prays that this time he won’t be dropped). “Eli, is this-?”

“Yup.”

“What the fuck is the deputy doin’ here?”

“Jacob took a shine to him, same as us.” Eli cuts Garrett’s arms and legs free, patting him on the shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay, hero. Whitetail’s gotcha now.”

Although his legs feel like wet noodles, Garrett assists in getting himself up and on his feet, although the walking part is a little impossible for him right now. Luckily, Eli and the other kid (what the hell is his name?) support his weight and take him away from this God-forsaken place.

“We’re takin’ him back to the Wolf’s Den?” the kid asks incredulously.

“Where else?”

“Tammy’s not gonna like this.”

“Don’t worry about Tammy. She’ll be fine.”

He doesn’t know who Tammy is, nor does he know what the Wolf’s Den is, but dammit he just doesn’t care. _Anywhere_ is better than with Jacob Seed. Garrett’s exhaustion finally catches up with him, and as they’re practically dragging him to safety, his body decides that now is the perfect time to rest. He just barely catches a glimpse of light through a doorway, and then he peacefully slips away into unconsciousness.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...happy December???  
>  I'm very sorry I left this un-updated for so long, but I had a little surge of inspiration the other day, and on the same night, a new Far Cry was announced, so I decided it must be fate and I absolutely have to finish this fic, even if it kills me.  
> Once again, I'm very sorry, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! Big things are coming, so maybe the wait was worth it?

Waking up is an arduous task. Garrett vaguely remembers waking up to yelling a while ago, but Eli was quick to make him rest again. He needed the sleep, but damn does he hurt. He’s not sure if it’s from the worn couch or just general _pain_ from Jacob’s conditioning, but by the crick in his neck and the ache in his lower back, it’s probably the couch’s fault.

His sleep was blessedly dreamless. He’s not sure how his subconscious would react to such a strain on his mind.

Still half-asleep, Garrett forces himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. The leather is well-used, soft and pliable underneath his fingertips. He drums his digits a few times, trying to make his body work again. He must be sitting there stretching his limbs and wiggling his toes for a while, because someone gently clears their throat.

Garrett glances up with a bleary-eyed gaze. The man in front of him is unfamiliar at first, but when he speaks, the deputy recognizes him as Walker.

“E-Eli w-wanted you to s-see him,” he stutters out. Garrett gives a wordless nod, rising from the couch with popping joints and creaking bones. Hope County’s aging him like crazy.

He doesn’t know his way around, but enough people point him in the right direction. They all seem to be wary of him, barely meeting his eyes or avoiding him entirely. Whatever he did to deserve this treatment, he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t like it.

His quest to find Eli comes to fruition. In a somewhat secluded little place, Garrett finds the man hunched over a table, poring over documents. The screens remind him of a security room in a department store. Hell, that’s basically what it is, just on a grander scale.

Garrett lingers in the entryway, wondering if he should cross the threshold or not. Eli looks busy. Then again, he _did_ ask for the deputy.

He doesn’t have to decide for himself. Eli notices him hovering and wordlessly beckons him over. Garrett strides over, positioning himself at the opposite side of the table. There’s a bow and a small bundle of arrows. A few stray arrows are littered over the wooden surface somewhat haphazardly. If there were children about, this would be a big no-no.

Garrett is forced to stand there a little awkwardly as Eli continues his work. He shoves down the urge to whistle, but a little bit of foot-tapping never hurt anyone. His eyes scan the screens in front of him. Not much going on; a wolf, in one of them, but not a Judge. _Run, run away, you poor creature,_ Garrett thinks.

After what seems to be an eternity, Eli finally turns his attention to the deputy. “So, you were pretty zonked out there for a while. How ya feelin’?”

Garrett shrugs. “Been better. Been a hell of a lot worse.”

Eli chuckles. “I hear that.” He pushes a few sheets of paper around, then stacks them neatly. “Well, you’re not here to make small talk, and I don’t expect it.”

The heavily bearded man rises to his full height, stretches, and hunches back over the table. Garrett mentally scolds the man for having bad posture. He doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah. Much as I’d like to take a break, I know shit needs to get done,” Garrett replies after a pause.

“Yep, unfortunately.” Eli gathers his short stack of documents, looking through them before setting them aside once again. His attention averts to the map laid out on the table. “Alright. So, basics. You’re at the Wolf’s Den right now, which is right about here.” Eli gestures to an area on the map marked in red Sharpie.

Garrett watches closely as Eli lists all points of interest and circles each area with a finger. It probably wouldn’t hurt if the deputy marked his own map, but he’ll remember. Probably. Hopefully. Alright, maybe not, but he’s sure this won’t be his last time at the Wolf’s Den.

“So, now that we’ve got all that covered, and you know where our base is, I need to know I can trust you with that information.” Eli glances up at Garrett, a somewhat stern look in his eyes.

Garrett’s first instinct is to question his mistrust, then he remembers why he’s here. “Got it,” he agrees.

“Okay. Good. I have a little job for you.”

Garrett knows it won’t be a little job, but if it helps him make more allies in this godforsaken county, he’ll take whatever Eli throws at him.

 

 

 

A sharpened blade cuts through the zip-ties like butter, releasing the woman’s hands from their bonds. Garrett sheathes the knife again, patting the hostage on the back. She murmurs a relieved thank-you, then stoops down to pick up one of the guns a Peggie dropped.

All of the Whitetails seem to be in good shape, if a little roughed up. No casualties, at least. Mission successful. Garrett pulls his walkie out, waiting for the crackling to die down before speaking to Eli. _I really need to find a new one_.

“Four Whitetails headed your way,” the deputy announces proudly.

“Nice job, Dep. I knew I could count on you.” Eli sounds relieved, whether it’s from a successful mission or some rescued folks, Garrett isn’t sure. But from what he’s seen from Eli so far, he’s guessing it’s mostly the latter.

“You need anything, you know where to reach me,” Garrett says.

“What, you’re not gonna stay in these big, bad mountains anymore?” There’s a hint of amusement in Eli’s voice. It feels nice to already have a sense of normalcy with the man.

“As much as I love having my ass bitten by Judges, I’m afraid I still have some unfinished business down in Holland Valley.”

Eli makes a noise of understanding, then the pair say proper farewells.

Garrett isn’t lying, necessarily, but more than anything he misses Boomer. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he’s seen the dog, but any amount of time without the heeler is too much for the deputy. He wonders if Boomer feels the same. Hopefully the faithful mutt is still at the F.A.N.G center, waiting for his master’s return.

 

Luckily, Hope County is filled with friendly faces, and it doesn’t take long for Garrett to flag down a car to take him back to the outpost. He makes pleasant conversation with the woman driving, and when they aren’t speaking, the silence is very comfortable. Her name is Janet, and she never planned to join the Resistance until one of the Peggies tried to run off with her German Shepherd.

“You mess with my baby,” she’d said, then turned to the deputy very seriously, “you get to answer to the barrel of my shotgun.” She terrified Garrett, but in a good way.

The drive hardly seems long at all, and in no time,  they’ve arrived at the Center. Garrett exits the beat-up maroon sedan, and when the door shuts behind him, the window rolls down.

“Thanks for the ride, Jan,” Garrett says politely, leaning into the open window.

“Anytime, Dep!” Garrett waves as she backs out of the driveway, then turns around to go inside once the car is out of his sight.

The place is significantly cleaner. The blood is gone, as well as the animal carcasses, and some of the fences have been mended. It’s almost as if this place was never home to a shit-ton of crazy-ass drug wolves.

At the other side of the facility, Garrett’s truck remains where he’d left it. It’s mostly untouched, barring a few bullet holes in the rear bumper. Not a big deal; shit happens, he supposes. The deputy is about to start yelling for his dog when Wade takes notice of him.

“Afternoon, Deputy,” the cheerful man greets. “Been a while since you’ve wandered your way back here.” Then, quietly, like it’s a secret, “Heard Jacob got his hands on ya. Those just rumors, or do they got some merit to ‘em?”

“Yeah, it’s true,” Garrett grumbles out. Wade nods slowly, appearing cautious, but then his usual friendly demeanor is back.

“Come to see Cheeseburger? I’ll bet he’s ready to go gnaw on some Peggie chops again.”

“Actually, I was wondering if Boomer was still stickin’ around here somewhere.” Wade bites his lip, back straightening.

“Well, since it’d been a while and we weren’t sure if you were comin’ back, we sent Boomer off to Holland Valley. Miss Fairgrave- at the Spread Eagle, in Fall’s End?- agreed to take care of him.”

It’s not the news he’d wanted to hear, but at least his dog is alive and well. As an afterthought, he asks, “How long is ‘a while?’”

Wade ponders for a moment. “I’ll bet it was maybe a week or so ago that you went missin’.” At that, Garrett blanches. _A week?_

Well, hell, if he’s here he might as well catch up before he goes off to find Boomer. In Hope County, a week can be quite eventful, after all. It wouldn’t hurt to spend some time with Cheeseburger, either. They’d only just become acquainted when Garrett went and ran off again. The grizzly probably won’t remember him, but fish is every bear’s best friend.

“Long as he’s safe, it won’t kill me to stick around here for a little while. So, d’you mind filling me in on everything that’s hit the fan?”

Wade grins, already leading Garrett inside. “It would be my pleasure.”

 

 

Later that night, Garrett finds himself pulling into the sparse parking lot of The Spread Eagle. The neon lights flash cheerily despite the late hour. The bright “OPEN” sign illuminates the porch. The N flickers a few times, causing the others to waver, but the electrical issue sorts itself and the sign is right as rain. Garrett shoulders the door open. Contrary to the empty parking lot, the bar is quite full. Casey has taken Mary May’s usual spot at the counter, polishing a dingy mug. The rifle on the wooden surface does not escape Garrett’s peripherals.

“Been a while since you’ve come to see us here in the Valley,” Mary May says, suddenly behind Garrett.

The deputy jumps with an involuntary little shout, hand reaching for the knife strapped to his thigh.

“Whoa, whoa! Calm down there, tiger.” She pats his shoulder reassuringly. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“Ye-” Garrett clears his throat. “Yeah, it’s cool. Just a little jumpy, is all. Dealt with some shit at Jacob’s compound,” he admits with a nervous little chuckle.

“The rumors are true?” she asks softly, like Wade. At his cautious nod, she leads him over to an empty table in the far corner. He follows without protest. Although, one issue bothers him incessantly.

“Where’s Boomer? Heard he made his way up here.” The pair settle in the creaky chairs opposite each other. It’s not the most comfortable place he’s sat, but it beats the driver’s seat of his truck. As much as he likes _not_ walking all over the damn place, some days he’d almost prefer it to sitting in that shitty thing for hours at a time. Might be time to steal a new one.

Mary May chuckles. “That damn dog of yours kept tryin’ to run off, all cavalier just like his stubborn owner.” Garrett grins, part amusement and part pride.

“He didn’t actually run off, though, right?”

She shakes her head. “Nah. Nick came around for a few beers the other night and said he’d take him home ‘til you showed up again.”

“Speaking of. Mind getting me a beer, bar lady?”

“I most certainly will _not_ ,” she says, although she makes her way toward the bar anyway.

Garrett laughs softly after her, leaning his chin into his open palm. He’ll have to shave soon, lest he start looking like one of those damn cultists. He snorts inwardly. _Maybe John’d like that, after all._ Then reality hits him like a ton of bricks. John.

He doesn’t know why he feels guilty. Surely John knew Jacob had him, yet he did nothing. Not that Garrett expected him to. They aren’t friends. They aren’t lovers. Fate is just playing a sick joke on him, on them, and it doesn’t mean a damn thing.

But why does he feel so empty, if that’s the case?

When Miss Fairgrave returns with his beer (and two others, bless that woman), they take some time to catch up. Garrett can get Boomer back tomorrow- it’s best to let Nick and Kim rest.

 

 

 

The next morning, bright and early, Garrett drags himself out of bed and away from his nightmares and out to his truck. He doesn’t bother changing his clothes. If Boomer’s recent behavior is anything to go by, he’ll likely just get pissed on in the dog’s excitement. And if his shirt smells a little weird and that little stain on his jeans has settled, he doesn’t expect anyone to say anything.

Getting in the truck is a Herculean task (he hasn’t even had coffee), yet he manages, and he follows the familiar, winding roads that lead to Nick and Kim Rye’s humble abode.

The entire drive is filled with silence. He doesn’t bother turning the radio on, doesn’t want to hear Hope County’s choir fill the cab and his brain. John certainly fills his brain, however. Garrett doesn’t know if he’s suddenly thinking about him due to their proximity, or if he _actually_ cares about that asshole. There’s no point in lying to himself- he supposes, somewhere inside himself, he cares about John. He’s sure he wouldn’t without the whole shitty “soul bond” they have, but there’s no denying that part of himself, either. It’s there, and it sucks, but they wouldn’t be soulmates for no reason.

He shudders to think what that reason might be.

Garrett’s tires rattle up the driveway in such a familiar way, and he feels like he’s coming home. John finally escapes through a little crack in his mind, and his thoughts are turned toward his family. His family. God, that’s still such a strange thing to think. It’s fitting, though.

By the time he’s parked and stepping out, Kim has appeared on the porch. When his feet hit the ground, a little spike of pain shoots through his leg. He’s still sore from the arrow that had pierced the meat of his calf. That little bit of pain escapes when Kim is suddenly at his side, squeezing the life out of him.

“Where have you been?” she half-scolds. “When Nick brought Boomer home, I thought…” Kim trails off, but Garrett knows what she means.

At the ruckus, Nick emerges from the house, baby in hand. He doesn’t rush down for a rib-crushing hug, but he does wave with a large grin on his face. It’s the first time Garrett’s seen him without his hat, and he can only describe it as a cursed sight.

“In the house,” Kim orders, and starts pushing him toward the steps. He’s about to protest, when Nick holds up a hand, halting the deputy.

“Just one minute there. Don’t want my floors ruined.” Garrett looks at him inquisitively, then realization dawns on him.

Nick whistles sharply. Nothing. He motions for Garrett to do it. Instead of whistling, Garrett calls out, “Boomer! Come on! Dad’s home!”

From inside the house, the deputy can hear the skittering of claws on hardwood, then Boomer is at the window. The dog lets out a squealing bark, looking for the quickest route outside. In a split second, Boomer decides it’s _out_ the window, and he has an admittedly ungraceful crash-landing. For a few seconds, Garrett is terrified Boomer has injured himself, then the dog is hurtling toward him at mach speed.

Boomer hits Garrett square in the chest with such force that he’s knocked to the ground. A trail of excited pee leads from Boomer’s landing-spot all the way up Garrett’s leg, and it’s disgusting and horrible and God, _so warm_ , but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Boomer is crying and whimpering the entire time, just a bundle of unbridled, fluffy joy. Garrett is clutching onto him like a lifeline, and the reunion is just as fantastic as he expected.

The pair spend at least ten minutes hugging it out in the dirt outside, but once Boomer’s accident starts drying on his pants, it becomes a problem. Kim allows him to have a shower before they talk, which seems more like a kindness to the Ryes than himself. When he emerges from the bathroom, hair wet and slicked back and skin rubbed red in some spots, Nick, Kim, and the baby are patiently waiting for him at the breakfast table. He quickly makes his way over, and when he opens his mouth to speak, Kim shushes him.

“Just eat your breakfast first. Whatever you need to say can wait.”

Garrett obeys, and the odd little family have a meal for the first time in what feels like forever, and that piece that was missing from the deputy has returned. And for hours after, they simply talked. Like this, Garrett could easily forget about Hope County’s plight.

 

Morning turned into afternoon, then slowly eased into evening. As the deputy, he figures he shouldn’t really take a day off, but what the hell. Boomer is snoozing, sprawled over his torso, and Kim is feeding her baby while Nick and Garrett talk about slightly unhappier topics.

“John’s been pretty uppity these past few days. Ever since you went MIA,” Nick explains.

“Uppity how? Did he get bold again ‘cause I was gone?”

“That’s what it seemed like. I’m gonna take a guess and say he knew Jacob had ya.”

Well, that certainly clears up Garrett’s conflict from the previous night. In a way, it gives him less of an emotional connection to John. It hurts that the Seed doesn’t care about him, but it will make it a hell of a lot easier to get rid of him, when the time comes. Hurk’s words still haunt him, sometimes.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Garrett says, more quietly than he’d intended. Nick can see the conflict and storm of thoughts going on behind his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. Garrett is thankful for that. He can’t explain his feelings to himself, let alone to another person.

“You don’t mind if I get some air, do you?” Garrett asks, suddenly feeling suffocated. Nick shakes his head, and gestures toward the door.

“There’s a gun in Carmina if you need to blow off some steam!” Nick says after Garrett’s retreating form. Kim gently scolds him, tells Nick he needs to stop calling the plane that.

 

The air is chilly, and Garrett almost wishes he had a jacket. The sun hasn’t set just yet, but the deep orange sky has bits of darkness slowly trickling into the vibrant colors. Much like the news about John is a bit of darkness trickling into his conscience. He can’t leave Holland Valley again, not when John is starting his bullshit again, and not when his friends and family are at a higher risk than ever.

Then he remembers Joey. He can’t possibly imagine what that poor woman is going through, but he keeps reminding himself that she’s strong. She’s strong and bold like no other person he’s ever met, and a weak little man like John Seed won’t break her. He doesn’t have the confidence to believe that he won’t _try_.

“God dammit,” Garrett mutters under his breath, and he reaches for the radio he clutches onto far too frequently. His fingers are numb when he does it, but he makes contact. And, as nonchalantly as he can, trying desperately not to show emotion, Garrett breathes out, “Hey.”

John answers quickly. Too quickly, like he knows Garrett was about to call.

“Deputy,” the man says, just as breathily, and Garrett doesn’t believe that he hears relief. It’s not relief, because John doesn’t care about him, and Garrett doesn’t care about John. “What can I do for you?”

“I want to see you,” Garrett says, mechanically.

“You do?” Confusion peppers John’s tone, but he recovers. “Are you ready to atone? Do you finally want to confess your sins?”

Garrett doesn’t answer, powering through. “Drop everything you’re doing. And I want you to listen very carefully. We are meeting. _Tonight_. You are not going to bring any weapons, or back-up, just yourself.”

John snorts audibly on the other end. “And I assume you won’t bring any weapons or back-up either? How can I trust you?”

“You can’t. You shouldn’t. Just like I can’t trust you, nor should I.” Garrett has to force himself to say the next words, and he feels a little sick. “But I’m willing to try.”

John is silent, and Garrett fears he’s stopped listening. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he says, “Alright. We’ll meet. No guns.”

“I said no _weapons_ ,” Garrett enunciates.

“Fine. We’ll meet, no _weapons_ , and we’ll be alone. I’m choosing the meeting spot.”

Garrett really doesn’t trust that, or John, but he just said he was willing to try. Garrett is a lot of things, but he’s certainly not a liar. He memorizes the location and pockets his radio again. This is a mistake. It’s a huge goddamn mistake. But if he doesn’t do anything, he’ll regret it for the rest of his life.

His farewell to Nick and Kim is short, clipped, and he promises he’ll be back by tomorrow night, at the latest. Nick is reluctant to let him go, and Boomer flat-out _refuses_ to stay behind without Kim holding onto him, but Garrett knows this is something he must do.

“I promised I’ll come back, so I’ll come back. Have I broken a promise yet?”

Having declared this, Garrett sets off. He can’t break a promise, so he has to come back. He repeats this in his head over and over again, trying to cement it down. He climbs into his truck and follows the winding roads to John’s desired meeting spot.

He abandons the vehicle just a little further back, and Garrett ends up being the first to show up. He hopes against hope that John doesn’t ambush him. Then, as he’s praying to any god that will listen, a sleek black car rumbles to a stop just twenty feet away from the deputy. The windows are tinted, but a car so obnoxiously expensive in a place like Hope County can only be owned by one person.

The door opens.

A foot comes out.

Garrett holds his breath.

 

“Good evening, Deputy.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know how to feel about this chapter. Now that I've forced them to meet face-to-face, I think I'm moving too fast. I don't know. If you guys hate it, I'm sure you'll let me know.  
> Well, as always, please enjoy and thank you so much for all the nice comments!

Garrett and John stare at each other. The only noise is that of John’s car door shutting, and they both seem to be holding their breath. The rational part of Garrett feels an intense, burning hatred. It heats up his veins in a way he can only describe as pure fire. And yet that stupid, entirely irrational part of him calls out to John, makes his stomach flutter in anticipation and excitement. Garrett only wishes John feels half as conflicted as he does; it’s a form of torture all in itself.

The sun has finally made its descent below the horizon, and Garrett tries desperately not to notice the way the dying light accentuates John’s sharp features, or the way the sun glimmers off the obnoxious buckle on his belt. John seems to be appraising him, as well, and his striking blue eyes rake up and down the deputy’s form that turns his stomach. He’s not sure if his insides are roiling in disgust or desire, or perhaps it’s a horrifying amalgamation of both.

After an eternity, Garrett is the one to break the silence.

“Are you armed?”

John smirks, the cockiness returned, and pats himself down. “No.”

Garrett squints his eyes in a hateful glare. “I don’t believe you,” he declares, coldly.

“Are _you_ armed?” John mimics.

“Of course not.”

“That’s funny. I don’t believe you, either.”

They stare at each other for a few more moments, the tension palpable.

“It seems we’re at an impasse,” Garrett decides.

John’s brow furrows, his voice darkens. “It seems so.”

The staring match continues. Remembering that he is in fact a _cop_ , Garrett has a brilliant idea.

“Put your hands up. Palms forward,” he orders. John scoffs and crosses his arms, in a grand display of insubordination. Well, Garrett can’t say he didn’t see it coming. The deputy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ. Look, dumbass, I’ll do it too.”

True to his word, Garrett raises his hands above his head, palms facing outward. John studies him briefly, then cautiously mirrors Garrett’s stance. John is the first to take a step forward, and Garrett’s stomach does a little flip. Not one to be outdone, he takes a step, as well. They continue like this, inching toward each other with their hands up until they’re hardly a foot from each other. The last time Garrett had been this close, John tried to drown him. He makes sure that little murder attempt stays at the forefront of his mind as his heart goes batshit insane and his mind screams at him to do the exact opposite of killing the other man.

What he wouldn’t do for a pair of handcuffs.

They treat each other like dangerous wild animals. In a way, Garrett supposes they are. Ready to attack at the drop of a hat. Fingers on the trigger.

John is the first to lower his hands, and Garrett watches as the man’s thumbs hook in the pockets of his jeans. He tenses, waiting for John to pull out a knife or anything else, but the moment doesn’t come. Garrett slowly lowers his hands, as well. Despite his best efforts, Garrett can’t stop his breath from shaking, nor can he control the tremble in his fingers. A quick glance at John’s hands proves the other man isn’t faring much better.

“So,” John says, barely above a whisper. “Are you prepared to answer for you sins?”

And Garrett reaches his tipping point. John realizes a split second before he does it, eyes widening and attempting a duck, but Garrett still gets a good hit in.

The deputy’s fist collides with John’s nose.

John lets out a strangled gasp, reaching up to cup his bleeding nose, and Garrett takes the moment to tackle him to the ground, all fury and hatred and every bit the dangerous wild animal he knows he is. He raises his fist for another punch, aiming for the same spot, determined to break the asshole’s face.

John blocks the punch, holding Garrett’s fist in a vice-like grip. Garrett risks his balance to try a punch with his other fist, and John blocks that as well. He takes the opportunity and throws the deputy off, holding Garrett on the ground with a hand to his throat.

Garrett grapples at his wrist, trying to pry his fingers away. John begins to laugh, and the sight is absolutely horrifying. There’s fury and hatred in his eyes, a smile on his face, and blood running down his nose and disappearing into his beard.

“Wrath,” he says. John declares it like a revelation. Like he’s some sort of goddamn genius.

“What?”

“Your sin,” John clarifies, leaning in, “is Wrath.”

“Fuck you!” Garrett seethes, thrashing violently until he, once again, has the upper hand. Not before John manages a quick punch, however.

Garrett can feel the blood running down his chin before he feels the pain of his lip splitting open. It’s enough to stun him a bit, and John surges up with a swift headbutt. Ballsy move, but god _damn_ it’s effective (not to mention painful). Garrett is once again in the dirt, but he manages to get his hands on John’s wrists to toss him off.

The fight is dirty and neither of them end up on top. They both get some good hits in, and while Garrett was on the ground more than he’d prefer, John sustained just as much damage. He’s not sure how, but John seemed to predict every move he’d make, yet in turn, Garrett knew exactly what John was going to do. In the end, they both wordlessly agreed that fighting like children was pointless, and instead opted to sit side-by-side (several feet apart, naturally) and catch their breath.

Garrett’s lip is sore and the coppery taste of blood has settled on his tongue. His skull aches in a way that suggests he’ll be suffering a nasty black eye come morning, and he can feel the scratches from blunt fingernails on his neck. His chest heaves and his breathing is nothing but short pants; he reminds himself of Boomer after a long run. Glancing over at John, Garrett realizes he isn’t in much better shape.

The usually well put-together man can only be described as rumpled, clothes out of place and his gelled hair falling over his forehead in pathetic little strands. The blood coming from his nose has dried, crusting underneath his nostrils. There’s a little smear across his cheek where he tried to wipe it away. The bridge of his nose is just slightly crooked, and a bit of pride swells in Garrett’s chest at the sight. Aside from John’s broken nose, there’s a nasty bruise forming on his cheekbone and the flesh is swollen. In short? They both look like shit.

“I thought we were going to be civil,” John mumbles. Garrett scoffs out a huff of amusement.

“That’s not possible, and you know it.” Then, as an afterthought, because Garrett is a literal child, “You started it.”

“You’re the one that started throwing punches,” John accuses. Garrett shrugs. Well, he’s not wrong.

“Yeah, well,” he begins, and gives John another once-over, “your coat is stupid.”

John scrunches up his nose in confusion, followed by a wince and a pained grunt. He gives Garrett a sideways glance and opens his mouth once, twice, and the words appear to die on his tongue. _Check and mate, bitch._

Garrett isn’t sure exactly when it happened, but at some point during their schoolyard scuffle, the sun fully dipped below the horizon, covering Hope County in a blanket of darkness. The night is almost peaceful, but if he strains his ears hard enough, he swears he can hear bears. _Damn country._

Despite everything, after beating the shit out of John, Garrett can feel some of his hatred ooze out. He’s not sure if it’s his instincts forcing him to not want to kill him or if the deputy doesn’t actually feel as strongly. Perhaps a bit of both. But, for Hudson’s sake, and everyone else in Hope County, he won’t get rid of all that hatred. He can’t.

The silence between them is almost companionable. Hell, Garrett even relaxes enough to lean back on his elbows, and at some point, John began to slouch forward. It’s almost nice. It would be nicer if John was a normal person, if Garrett was drawn to him for his personality and not some supernatural force that demanded they need to be together.

Both men jump when the sound of a bear is suddenly _very_ close. Garrett can only assume the bear is just meters away, as he can hear faint snuffling and low growling. The smell of their blood likely isn’t helping matters. Hell, it probably attracted the damn thing.

“Shit,” Garrett whispers. “I don’t have a gun.” He’s about to ask John if he has any but decides at the last moment that he doesn’t really want to know.

“I don’t either,” John mouths back. Well, it answers one question, but now Garrett doesn’t know how the hell they’re going to fight it off. Unless they run away.

The deputy makes a move to stand up, and then to his right, he can see some very faint movement. Right in the direction of his truck. _God fucking dammit._

“Get in the car,” John orders.

“What?” Garrett demands. “Hell no!”

John is already heading for the driver’s seat. “Get mauled, then!” He lingers at the car door, though, clearly waiting.

Well. Garrett doesn’t want to admit it, but John has some pretty sound logic. “God dammit,” he grumbles, and eventually obeys. His pace quickens when the sound of lumbering footsteps grows closer, and he’s hardly in the car when John backs out.

The interior is… not as tidy as Garrett expected. He’d assumed John Seed’s car would be as immaculate as the man himself, but _damn_. There are receipts all over the floorboards and enough gravel to pave the roads.

Unlike John, Garrett does not put his seatbelt on. Just in case he needs to jump out the window, or perhaps strangle the driver.

Once the initial terror of fleeing a bear wears off, the drive becomes awkward and tense. Fast. Neither of them talks to each other, obviously realizing how strange this is. Garrett _willingly_ got into a car with his enemy, and John _willingly_ let his enemy into his car, no less than an hour after they tried to murder each other with their bare hands.

Fifteen minutes feels like fifteen _days_ , and finally John gets fed up with the silence. He, very bravely, turns on the radio. Garrett won’t mind a little music, although he still refuses to admit how catchy the cult’s songs are. The deputy is about to settle in the worn leather when the radio finally catches up.

“Oh, John! Bold and brave!” the stereo wails.

Garrett does not allow the song to play anymore.

The next fifteen minutes are spent in more agonizing, dizzying silence. Garrett is tempted to jump out the window not to escape John himself but the mood he’s created. They’ve created. Well, hell, he may as well blame it on John.

The driveway they pull into is vaguely familiar, then Garrett realizes.

This is the Seed Ranch.

John is going to murder him in his home.

This is not good.

 

John exits the car without another word to Garrett. The deputy considers sliding over to the driver’s seat, stealing the car and leaving. For some unknown reason, he doesn’t. For another _unknown reason_ , his dumb ass decides to get out of the car and follow John. He doesn’t know why. He wants to question himself, but God if he’s worried to hear the answer he has.

The pathway is lined with crates marked with Eden’s Gate sigils. Garrett can only imagine what their contents may be. He must be taking a while, drinking in his surroundings, because John is tapping his foot impatiently.

“Are you coming?” he urges.

“This is basically a kidnapping. You’ve kidnapped me. Again,” Garrett retorts, but he does quicken his steps.

“You came willingly,” John reminds him, holding the door open. They almost feel like friends. If only Garrett didn’t wish John was dead.

Garrett’s doesn’t know what he expects. Bodies all over the place? Trash, like John’s car? The décor of a sex dungeon?

It’s certainly not… all this. Rustic decorations, plush-looking furniture, taxidermied creatures. A wall filled with books, and not one of them appears to be a bible. He’s just walked into the living room of what is essentially a Modern-Rustic HGTV display home.

“Greed, much?” he mumbles under his breath. At John’s questioning, ‘hmm?’ Garrett only waves him away. “Just talking to myself.”

He feels very out of place, with his ripped jeans, muddy combat boots, and red flannel stained with more fluids than he can count. John disappears down a hallway, and Garrett distantly thinks he’ll come back with a gun or a knife or an axe, but that leather couch is calling to him. If John was going to kill him, he would have done it by now. Vice versa. Jesus, that’s the strangest revelation he’s had so far.

Without hesitation, Garrett flops himself down on the couch, which gives a soft _poof_ upon impact. He might kill John for his furniture.

Like every rude teenager, the deputy props his feet up on the coffee table, avoiding the little Eden’s Gate bible-thing lying there. After several minutes, John returns. The blood is cleaned off his face and he’s holding two ice packs. One is pressed firmly to his swollen cheek; the other is offered to Garrett. He murmurs his thanks and brings it up to his mouth.

“You might want to put that on your eye, instead,” John instructs, and takes a seat right next to Garrett.

In an instant, the deputy switches spots, opting to lounge on the loveseat on the other side of the coffee table. John rolls his eyes but leans back into the plush cushions, making himself comfortable. It’s so strange, and slightly surreal. Garrett is sitting here, in John’s living room, holding up a little blue pack of ice to stop the swelling that _John_ caused. If this is a dream, _please, please_ let him wake up.

“I recall you wanting to talk,” John says nonchalantly, propping his feet up. Garrett notices that he’s taken his shoes off, wonders if he should do the same. No, that’s just too intimate.

“I do,” he replies, the anger from earlier suddenly returning. “First of all, I want you to knock it the hell off. Don’t look at me like that. You know what I mean.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. God, here he is, scolding John fuckin’ Seed like he’s a youngster that’s done wrong and not a powerful man that literally holds his, and everyone else’s, life in his hands.

“Let Deputy Hudson go. I know you used her to get to me. Guess what? You got to me. I’m here. Just let her go.”

John seems to ponder, pulling the ice pack away from his face and folding his hands in his lap.

“Why would I go and do something like that? Seems kind of stupid, doesn’t it?”

Garrett suddenly surges up, dropping the ice pack to the coffee table. “Because I will _fucking kill you_ if you don’t. I don’t give a shit if you’re my soulmate.” Well. That’s the first time he’s ever said something directly to him, and that just makes it so much more real.

John seems taken aback as well. “Well,” he coughs awkwardly, “I guess I feel the same. I don’t give a shit if you’re _my_ soulmate, I won’t release her without getting what I want.”

“Don’t you have enough? Jesus Christ. All of you fuckin’ cultists are like _leeches_!” Garrett wants nothing more than to punch John again, to break his stupid nose beyond recognition. John keeps his composure, but he does allow a stupid little smirk to slip through.

“A deal isn’t much of a deal if I don’t get anything in return.”

“What, me _not_ killing you isn’t enough?”

“No, sorry, I need something a little more tangible.”

Garrett sighs, holding his head in his hands. He won’t be getting anywhere, he feels, but it won’t kill anyone to humor the man.

“What? What else could you possibly want?”

Somehow, he is both blindsided and not at all surprised by his response.

“You,” he says simply, and when he’s built up enough of a dramatic pause, he continues, “I want you to confess your sins, and to atone. I want you to wear Wrath like an emblem on your flesh.”

Well. It’s a small price to pay to release Hudson, but… shit. Garrett is conflicted.

Why does he have to make these decisions?

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up boys we're entering extremely self-indulgent territory also my writing is getting super bad  
> Remember when I started this fic almost a year ago and I promised weekly updates? Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this absurdly late chapter and also I hope you forgive my bullshit. Now that I've completed New Dawn, though, I've successfully thrust myself back into the Far Cry fandom so hooray!!!! If I weren't such a horrible liar and also if my track record didn't already disprove it, I'd say there'll be more frequent updates. Chances are I'll upload about two chapters and abandon ship for six months again, but hey, it's two more chapters than I had before, right?  
> Enough rambling on my part. Please enjoy. :)

The words echo in his head for a long while. It’s not a hard decision. It really isn’t. Enduring a bit of pain to release his friend? The choice is obvious. Garrett does feel a bit sick, however, knowing that he is, in a way, surrendering to the enemy.

Why doesn’t he just kill John?

And Hurk’s words come back to haunt him. _“They were enemies too. Really fucked Jason up when he had to kill him.”_ Would it be worth it? To just kill John, even if it meant Garrett had an empty feeling inside for the rest of his life? Maybe he’d get over it. He hates John. He hates the whole damn family. The only thing keeping the dickhead alive is stupid, goddamn _fate_ that decreed they must be together.

Ultimately, he doesn’t know if it would be worth it. He doesn’t want to risk it. Perhaps that makes him selfish but, dammit, he deserves a little bit of selfishness every now and then. After all, he’s about to agree to possibly the _worst_ thing he can think of.

Damn him.

“Alright, I’ll- I’ll do it,” Garrett finally concedes. “I’ll, I’ll fucking… confess my ‘sins.’” Against the logical side of himself, he throws up a pair of _very_ condescending air quotes.

John appears to be taken aback. The man blinks once, twice, before regaining his composure. With a flourish (completely unnecessary, but you do you, Garrett supposes), John rises from his spot on the couch.

“Let’s go, then. Let’s get this over with. We’re a few weeks overdue, Deputy.”

“’Scuse me? Oh, no, we’re not doing this right now.”

John’s brows etch together in confusion. “I’m sorry, what? Why not? Don’t you want to save your friend?”

The way he casually says it makes Garrett’s blood boil. “Of course I do,” he fumes. “That doesn’t mean I don’t have other things to do.”

“What could be more important?”

_My family, for one._ “I do have responsibilities, you know. Can I just have a day? One goddamn day?”

As if it’s some great chore, John heaves a sigh (petulant child) and throws his palms up in surrender. “I… _understand_. I have preparations to make, anyway. Go. Go and do what you _need_ to do.”

He’d expected an argument, but, well. Garrett won’t be complaining. “Thanks. I guess. So, what, are you going to pick me up? Prom style?”

John snorts out a laugh, and Garrett pretends it doesn’t make his stomach flutter.

“No, you’re an adult. And you know your way here.” John glares pointedly at him, and Garrett is reminded of the plane theft. Now it’s his turn to laugh.

“Then it’s… settled, I guess. I’ll be back here in a day.” _So you can skin me like a deer._

John nods, then ushers the deputy to the door. It’s still night, and he’s not keen on going out where the wildlife is out hunting, but he intends to go to Nick and Kim’s, which really isn’t all that far. He can manage the trek. He’s an adult, as John had so helpfully pointed out.

Once out the door, boots planted on the patio, there’s a sort of finality about the situation. You are leaving of your own free will, and you _will_ be back of your own free will. It’s as though he’s given the choice, and yet he truly isn’t, is he?

“I’ll see you soon,” and then, hesitantly, almost _shyly,_ “Garrett.”

The door shuts before he can even process the word. Garrett isn’t sure how to feel. It’s the first time John has called him by his first name, and while it shouldn’t be doing things to him, it certainly is. Half of him is revolted, disgusted that such a vile man would ever speak his name. The other half, the half that is decidedly _stupid_ and _ridiculous_ , is practically singing with joy. He hates this constant war within himself. _Hate John, love John, hate John, love John._

He decides to, as with every other emotion John makes him feel, pack it away into a tightly closed bottle within his mind that he dares not touch with even a twenty-foot pole. It’s better to ignore his feelings, right? He’s sure that’s what every therapist would say to him. At least he can focus on other things now, such as not being torn to shreds by a bear.

And so, that is what Garrett pours all his energy into.

 

 

 

It’s almost no time at all that Garrett reaches his destination. The house is dark and quiet save for one lamp, and the very quiet drone of the TV that he can hear through the open windows. As he walks up the steps to the porch, he catches a glimpse into the living room. Kim and the baby are gone, likely in bed, and Nick is passed out in the recliner. Boomer, ever faithful, is awake at the pilot’s feet, staring at the door. Constantly on alert, searching for either intruders or his master.

As quietly as he can, so as not to stir the sleeping man, Garrett creeps in the front door. Boomer growls once, softly, then realizes who it is and greets the man at the door.

“Hi, buddy,” Garrett whispers. “I missed you, too.”

The commotion is enough to rouse Nick from his sleep, unfortunately.

“Hmm?” he grunts sleepily. “Oh, hey, Dep. You know what time it is?”

_Time for you to get a watch_. “It’s late. Why don’t you go on up to bed?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” The recliner shuts with a soft slam and creaks underneath Nick’s weight as he stretches. Although tired and bleary-eyed, Nick still meets his gaze. “Glad you’re alright. Wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

“It’s a long story. Real long.”

“I don’t mind.”

“’Course you don’t. Seriously, why don’t you go to bed? I’ll tell you in the morning. Big day tomorrow, after all.”

Nick looks very briefly confused, then shrugs. He releases what can only be described as a ‘dad yawn,’ followed by a somewhat-loud “ _Shit_!”

They exchange no more words, both exhausted. Nick ambles upstairs and Garrett collapses on the couch. It makes a horrible noise, but Garrett can’t bring himself to care. If they need him to, maybe he can take the couple to an Ashley’s after Eden’s Gate decides to fuck off. Get them a nice sectional.

He’s not exactly proud to admit it, but once he starts thinking really hardcore about furniture, Garrett falls dead asleep. Boomer is sprawled over his legs, using the deputy’s (frankly flat) butt as a pillow. It’s not a great setup. It’s not even a comfortable one. It works, though, and Garrett manages to get a good four hours in when he awakens to the smell of bacon.

It’s almost as if he’d time traveled. One moment, he’s thinking about furniture in the dead of night, and now the sun is shining in his eyes and Kim is in the recliner with Carmina. Amazing how time works.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Kim greets cheerily. “Late night?”

Garrett groans in response and hides his face in the arm of the couch. Kim laughs at his efforts.

“You should get up and take your dog out. If he poops on my floor, you’ll be on your hands and knees scrubbing it up.”

“Hhhhoh my _Goood_ ,” Garrett moans. He stretches his limbs as far out as they can go, and he realizes there isn’t any weight on his legs. Boomer has since packed and set up shop in the kitchen at Nick’s feet, gazing up at the man with a look Garrett has never seen before. Traitor.

“Mornin’,” Nick says gruffly. Must not have had his coffee yet, then. Garrett grunts in response, then snaps his fingers.

“Boomer. Come. Potty.” The heeler ignores him, eyes planted firmly on the greasy strips of bacon.

“Boomer! Outside!” Garrett commands, and suddenly the dog’s ears start working again, as if by magic. Boomer gives a long, mournful look at the stove, then bounds out the door before his master.

Standing on the porch in the chilly morning air gives Garrett the urge to have a cigarette. It’s been three years since he quit, and yet he still reaches for his shirt pocket. Hell, this shirt doesn’t even _have_ a pocket. Old habits really do die hard.

Boomer lifts his leg on just about everything in his path, even after the tank is empty.

“Go poop,” Garrett orders, and Boomer does not obey. Instead, he spends about five more minutes not pissing, another five minutes sniffing and surveying the yard, and just when Garrett has had enough, the dog spins like mad and _finally_ finishes his business.

The cattle dog bounds up the porch and through the door after he gets done kicking his back legs, then tears through the living room and back into the kitchen, planting his bum right by Nick’s feet once again. _Damn_ _dog_.

 

Breakfast passes by quickly and silently. Nick keeps stealing glances across the table, as if he’s waiting for Garrett to say something about the little stunt he pulled the night prior. Kim appears oblivious, but the man is smart enough to know she’s waiting, as well. She’s just being discreet. Bless her.

Garrett helps Nick do the dishes, and when he begins to move for the living room, Kim halts him.

“Why don’t you have a seat? Let’s talk.”

“Alright, Chris Hansen,” Garrett mumbles. It earns him a laugh from Nick, but a _very_ stern gaze from Kim and suddenly he’s sitting down. Crazy how those things work.

“Please just tell us what last night was all about. I mean, just getting back from Jacob’s compound, then you go and run off on your own? If you need time away from us, you can say so. You don’t have to run away like an angsty teen.”

“What? No, no, enough with the wild accusations. I don’t need time away from you guys. It’s just… it’s an extremely complicated situation.”

“I’m sure we’ll understand.” Kim rests her soft palm over the top of Garrett’s hand, circling her thumb around his knuckle comfortingly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know you will. I just… don’t really want to tell you guys about it.” Nick gives him a pointed look. “I will, though. Just. Just don’t think I’m a coward, or a traitor. Please.”

Kim’s brow furrows in confusion. Garrett had hoped for an escape, but no, the couple just sit and wait patiently. Garrett endures until the silence is too much. Hell, they’re bound to find out eventually, right? And so, he tells them everything, every bloody detail.

By the end, he feels a little sick. Agreeing to atone was bad enough but admitting it to other people hurts. It feels like he’s given in entirely. Here he is, a beacon of hope for this desperate county, willingly having his sins etched into his flesh, all to save _one_ person and to avoid killing one of the men directly causing the suffering of these innocent people. Instead of insults and accusations thrown his way, like he’d expected, he’s met only with understanding and a bit of sorrow.

“What does that mean for you?” Kim asks, almost timidly.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I doubt he’s going to let me go after all that. I don’t think he’ll keep me prisoner, either, but there’s no way in hell he’d just send me on my way after all that.”

“What if he doesn’t let Hudson go?” Nick inquires.

Garrett halts. He hadn’t really thought of that possibility, yet it’s such a realistic option. He swallows down a lump in his throat, and while he tries not to feel anything, an emotion he can’t quite describe arises as he says, “Then I’ll kill him.”

It’s like dread, yet also sorrow. Garrett doesn’t feel like he truly means it, but deep in his gut, he knows he would do it. Even if it killed him.

“Well,” Kim says, trying to lighten the mood. “Enough doom and gloom for one day.” She rises from the kitchen table, taking Carmina with her. The child has her mother’s eyes.

“If this might be the last day we have together, why don’t we treat it like that? Without the sad parts,” Kim suggests.

It’s an enticing idea, and Garrett accepts. It’ll be nice to have one day with his family, Boomer included. Although, he does intend to bring the dog with him, even if John objects. Garrett hopes John hates dogs. He hopes Boomer hates John. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?

They don’t treat their time together like a last day. They keep it as normal as possible, as if they’re fooling themselves into believing Garrett isn’t leaving. He can hope, at least. They all can.

 

 

True to his word, Garrett spends only a day away from John. At nearly 3:30am, Garrett rouses from his slumber on the Ryes’ couch, Boomer curled up behind his back. It’s still very dark outside, as to be expected, and the wildlife is eerily quiet.

The deputy wastes no time. As much as he would love to have a heartfelt goodbye with his family, he knows it would be far too difficult. It’s better to leave while they’re all asleep so he can’t be convinced to stay. He packs up what little belongings he has, and although the dog isn’t quite ready to get up yet, Boomer is eager to follow his owner.

They exit the house silently, and by some grace of God, the floorboards do not creak. Just as he’s stepping off the porch, he notices movement. A ripple of fear shoots up his spine, he reaches for his gun, and then Nick speaks.

“Leaving already, huh?”

Garrett relaxes and allows his hand to fall away from the holster. “Yeah,” he admits. “Thought it’d be too hard if I left later in the morning.”

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Nick asks. “I mean, just give us a little more time an’ I bet we could take that fucker down.”

“Yeah, I know we can. And this isn’t what I want, technically. I just can’t think of any other way to make this work.” Garrett pauses, sighs. “I’m sure it sounds really, really stupid. I’m just… I’ve heard some really terrible things about what happens when your soulmate dies. Maybe I’m being selfish. I just don’t know if I can handle that kind of trauma.”

Nick nods but offers no words of advice or support. He’s obviously torn on the matter.

“And, hey, at least this way, Hudson doesn’t have to wait any longer. Maybe she can take over in my place. Get the rest of this county back on track. She’s capable.” _More capable than I_.

Nick slowly stands up from the rickety old rocking chair and faces Garrett. “She’s always got a friend in us. Just send her our way when she’s free.” He places a hand on the deputy’s shoulder, then brings him in for a tight hug.

“You’ll always be welcome here, too. No questions asked. Remember that.”

Garrett promised himself he wouldn’t cry, and he’s always been good at keeping his promises. He can’t help himself. His eyes well up and he clutches onto Nick like a lifeline.

_This is what you were supposed to avoid. You need to go before you change your mind. Please, please let go. Don’t make this harder than it’s supposed to be._

After what feels like an eternity, they let go of each other. If Nick’s eyes are a little moist, Garrett doesn’t say anything and vice versa. He didn’t think it would kill him this much to leave the Ryes. Hurk claimed Jason felt empty after killing his soulmate. Said he was never the same, that it was killing him inside.

Nick and Kim must be Garrett’s soulmates, then, since he just feels such a _goddamn void_ inside himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This'll be the last Nick/Kim/Carmina-centric chapter for a while, if not the very last one. We're getting into that sweet, sweet John Seed plotline now. Stay tuned for an ultra self-indulgent sin confession, kiddos.


End file.
